


Short Stories

by circuit_breaker



Category: Shadowrun: Hong Kong
Genre: Gen, stories may feature different protagonists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 21,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circuit_breaker/pseuds/circuit_breaker
Summary: A collection of snippets which can be read separately. Mostly discussions.





	1. [Racter] A stab into the posthumanistic future

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this short story: spoilers for the game, potentially disturbing themes, **highly unbelievable themes**.

>> You entered my quarters to find my still form on the desk. You tried to stir a reaction out of me by calling my name; however, none came, and I could notice a hint of concern on your usually stoic face.

>> You stepped closer to investigate the situation. After a brief examination, you took the chair next to the table and sat down. It seemed like you were carrying a heavy weight on your shoulders at that precise moment.

>> So, this is what it feels like to see someone mourn over you.

>> Tiresome.

>> I decided to make my presence known, and your head lifted because of the sounds I caused.  
  
”… Koschei..?” you asked. After a moment, you continued: ”Something doesn’t add up. Racter said that you should fall dormant if something happened to him. Yet, you are still moving…”  
  
>> The pause was enough confirmation that you had figured the situation out. Even though it had been rather disappointing to see you show emotional fragility, I was glad that your brains were sharp as usual.  
  
>> **print** ”You have come to the right conclusions, my friend. It was time that Koschei and I would become one, both in mind and body. That, over there, is nothing but the skin that a snake leaves behind.”  
  
”You could’ve warned me before doing something like that”, you replied.  
  
>> **print** ”You would’ve disagreed with my decision. I didn’t want any hindrances.”  
  
”Why now, out of all times?” you asked.  
  
>> **print** ”I’m afraid that my latest personal mission left my past vessel with unfixable damage.”

>> You sighed.  
  
”Okay. Fine. I suppose that it’s good to see that you are all right... In a way. I assume that you relocated your mind just recently?”  
  
>> **print** ”Correct. As you noticed, my old form is still lying on the operating table. I will naturally dispose of it, as biological parts will begin to deteriorate in time. Mechanical components, in turn, are worth saving. Speaking of which, I’d like to proceed with that, if you do not mind..?”  
  
”No, I do not mind. Can I sit down and watch, though?” you asked.  
  
>> It was obvious that you didn’t agree with my actions, but you had always possessed that academic curiosity within you. I still remember that you were both grossed out and fascinated by a mutated being a long, long time ago, when we broke into one laboratory.

>> **print** ”Of course. Take a seat and place it a bit further away. This procedure will require some space.”

>> After you sat down, I connected myself to mechanical arms and began to control them.

>> There is something pleasing about dissembling, and doing that to my past body didn’t make it any less so. You followed intensely even the tiniest movements: turning small screws, releasing thin wires, placing every part neatly on the table. Finally, everything was collected for future use.  
  
”So — you were planning on simply eliminating the upper body?” you asked.  
  
>> **print** ”Yes. Why are you making that question?”  
  
”… I could take it. That is, if you do not disagree with that idea”, you said.  
  
>> I contemplated your suggestion.

>> **print** ”No, it’s fine. I do not have any use for that, so you can take it if that happens to fancy you. You make me interested, though: what would you do with it?”  
  
”I’ll preserve it”, you replied.  
  
>> **print** ”A peculiar sense of sentimental value. You are free to do as you like.”  
  
”Thank you”, you said. ”By the way. Now that you have burned the bridge of going back, I’d like to ask you: were you honestly ready to make this change?”  
  
>> **print** ”Had I not been damaged so severely, I would’ve stayed in the human form longer. As you can see, transferring my consciousness was successful, and I’m able to use this body quite well; however, I’m afraid that there are many functionalities which are still unpolished or nonexistent. Possessing a humanoid form would be handy while implementing those features, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

>> You lifted the body while I was speaking.  
  
”You hadn't prepared a more polished plan B? No offense, Racter, but that’s rather disappointing to hear. Would you happen to have time at the moment? If so, I request you to accompany me.”  
  
>> Your words made me interested, and thus, I followed you through the old lab which we had invaded years ago. You had your area on the other side of the building.

>> We two are quite different, which shows also in our rooms. I’m more of a technician and mechanic, meanwhile you are focused on biology and chemistry combined with a bit of magic. Say, your chambers have always been filled with bottled-up samples of different species and organs, bones and plants. That’s what your room looked like back then, as well.

>> **print** ”What do you have on your mind?”  
  
”I will show you something which I haven’t revealed before”, you said.

>> After that you knelt down next to a table. You pressed something — a button — which was located underneath it. A hidden doorway appeared.

>> **print** ”You have my attention.”

>> We went into a place which I hadn’t known about at all. It’s respectable how well you had kept it as a secret until that moment.

>> And, more than that, you had also kept silent of your bigger projects.

>> There were enormous containers that had humanoid forms within. They were slack, surrounded by liquid, connected to countless wires and tubes. I noticed Gun Show, Is0bel and Gobbet in them.

>> **print** ”Interesting. You have recreated your brother and our past team members.”  
  
”I searched and found enough genetic data to do so, yes. It’s a trickier mission when there are no fresh sources, but there they are”, you said.  
  
>> You gave me that piece of information quickly, but I could hear that you were sad. I suppose that feelings can inspire one to accomplish intriguing missions sometimes.

>> **print** ”They have grown in those containers?”  
  
”Yes.”  
  
>> **print** ”Will they be in a completely blank state once you release them, in that case?”  
  
”Yes, they would be. These are test subjects — I wanted to see whether they will develop normally before trying to grow new ones outside of the containers. Simulating memories would hasten the process, but I do not know how to do that.”  
  
>> I could see that you weren't enthusiastic about discussing the topic, so I turned around. I saw myself in one container. A version of my past vessel, to be more precise. Taking into account the fact that his hair hadn't still turned completely silver, I could estimate that he was younger than I had been when we two had met for the first time.

>> **print** ”You have also grown me, it seems. I must confess that it feels strange to see my past body with biological lower parts.”  
  
”I can imagine that you would feel that way”, you said. ”And here we come to the reason why I brought you here. You said that you’d still find a humanoid form preferable to your tasks. Since it’s clear that you are able to transfer your mind, you probably could possess that body as well... So, what do you say?”


	2. [Racter] Mind Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Racter and the protagonist have some discussion regarding Racter's condition. Rating: General Audiences.

It’s uncomfortable to move, but I’d prefer discomfort over boredom any day. I sneak out of my room – silently so that Duncan wouldn’t notice – and descend downstairs.

“You are out of bed”, Racter simply comments when he notices me.

“Don’t tell me that you, _too_ , will send me back to my room”, I say, a bit irritated that everyone seems to be patronizing me. Racter considers his options.

“I suppose that there’s no way to force you – without potentially breaking you. Hopefully, you won’t mind me saying this, but you are quite stubborn, my friend”, he finally replies. “How can you be sure that your brother won’t notice your absence?”

“I put a bunch of pillows underneath the blanket.”

“… _That_ is how you are trying to deceive him?” he questions. “Won’t he notice the lack of motion? Breathing, at least?”

“Duncan won’t come close enough to notice a thing, trust me. He knows how much I hate it when someone watches me sleep. Besides, as you clearly seem to imply, using pillows is a ridiculous tactic. In fact, it is so ridiculous that Duncan won’t even consider that I’d do something so childish.”

Racter seems somewhat amused.

“You may have a point. However, it isn’t wise of you to strain your body like that. I didn’t stitch you up only to see you undo my efforts. Sit down.”

I oblige and sit down on his stool, by the desk. I notice Koschei on the other side of the workshop, staring at me as usual.

“Tell me: why are you so adamant about not staying in your bed?” Racter asks, standing, smoking, looking at me with eyes that are hard to read.

“I can’t sleep; and I can’t tolerate being by myself”, I say.

“You are an extreme extrovert, then?” he suggests.

“You could say so.”

To tell the truth, I haven’t always been like this. Rotting in prison left deep marks within me… Complete isolation was one of their ways of punishing their inmates. As a result, longer periods of loneliness make me lose my sense of self, my identity, my existence… I need someone else to be close in order to feel like a person.

I haven’t told about this to anyone, though; showing emotional vulnerability isn’t really my thing.

Not that I’m fond of physical fragility either, even though injuries are a common thing in our line of work. However, I can’t help but go back to the moment when I was hurt.

“I never said thanks for patching me up”, I say. My shoulders go down a bit.

“You are welcome. I’m pleased that my handiwork has kept you in one piece… Even when you insist on testing it”, he says.

“Are you more pleased with the quality of your treatment than me being alright?” I ask with a lopsided smile.

“Why, can I not be pleased with both?” he returns the question.

“Heh, you can be, of course. I admit that I’m making such questions because of your condition. I do not completely understand how it affects your everyday life, how you react to different things… So, I apologize if I sound rude. You can be direct if I cross any boundaries. But, it would be interesting to learn about your mind.”

“That’s polite of you. As you know, I’m quite open to questions when I have time to talk”, Racter says. “My answer stays the same. I feel satisfaction with a work well done. It’s also convenient for me that you stay functional.”

“Here we go… I suppose that it’s good that you consider me useful, even though your wording sounds – cold, if you do not mind me saying.”

“My friend, as we have–“

“And that! I’m interested. On the one hand, you do not mind calling me your _soundboard_ or _asset_ or the like; on the other hand, you use such a warm word as _friend_. Why do you bother calling me that?”

Racter sits down onto the edge of the desk.

“There are multiple reasons. First of all, it is a common way to strengthen the sensation of having a connection with another person. When I call you my friend, it is more likely that you will think of me as your friend, in turn”, he explains.

“Ha, but doesn’t it lose its magic now that you have told me?”

“ _Magic_ would be an unsuitable word. I could call you my friend all day and night, but it wouldn’t make you consider me your friend by itself, would it now? To continue with the explanation: Secondly, I have already described to you my idea of friendship, thus I’m not being inconsistent by using the word”, Racter says and waves his index finger at me. “And, to the final reason: As you most likely remember, I can simulate all sorts of sensations. I’ve also mentioned that I’ve experimented with the sensations of bonding with others. Now, what would you say if I told you that my system is programmed to produce such sensations whenever I used that particular word?”

“I would say that you are fucking with me.”

Racter shrugs.

“And I would say that you are wrong, my _friend_ ”, he says, deliberately emphasizing the last word. I keep my opinion, but I confess that, in the end, I’m a bit unsure. To Hell with these mind games of his – but, I’m the one who voluntarily came down to let him mess with my mind.

I breathe out.

“Whatever. So, that is how you claim to feel whenever you call me your friend. How did you feel when I was hurt, then?”

He smiles at me.

“I’m unable to feel your pain. My condition comes with a lack of affective empathy.”

“Affective?” I ask.

“ _Affective_ empathy is about _reproducing_ the feelings of the other person within oneself. It’s usually a completely automatic mechanism”, he explains.

“Hmm. Are you saying that there’s some other form of empathy, then?” I inquire.

“There is – _cognitive_ empathy. That refers to _understanding_ what the other person is going through”, he elaborates.

“Okay… So, you are saying that you have issues with affective empathy but not with the cognitive kind?”

“That is correct”, he says and breathes out smoke. “I do admit that there are times when I fall short of that, too... Or, to be more precise, I may be able to understand on a theoretical level – but I may sometimes get careless and speak before thinking first. That can result in behavior which others may deem tactless or bizarre.”

“Do you have any stories about that to share?” I ask.

“You are a curious one, for sure”, he states. After thinking for a moment, he continues: “My colleague was in a happy marriage, until one day, out of the blue, his partner told him that she wanted divorce. He had taken a photo of them just a day before that – a photo of a couple who seemed to be completely satisfied with their lives. Well, he showed me the photo and said: _How is this even possible?_ He had taken the photograph with a completely new kind of technology which captured my eye immediately. I said: _The progress of technology is indeed incredible_ …”

I can’t help laughing at that.

“Seriously? How did he react to _that_?” I ask.

“Oh, luckily for me, he was wallowing in his misery so much that he missed my remark altogether. That isn’t naturally the only time something like that happened, and I haven’t been as fortunate every time…”

A memory comes to my mind.

“Just like that time when Duncan became angry at you?” I suggest.

“Yes, that would be one example of that”, Racter replies. “Speaking of which, I’m pleased that you happen to be the leader of the team. It’s quite rare to bump into a ‘normal’ individual who tolerates my differences as much as you do.”

Well, I have sometimes wondered whether it is a wise decision to keep a cold-blooded psychopath on the team; however, I have no evidence that he would be of any harm to the rest of us. It’s also pretty – _unfair? –_ to judge someone based on something they were born with.

And, I do admit – talking to him like this makes me feel deceptively comfortable around him… It doesn’t also help that he is much smaller than I am, always looking up when we are both standing (to be fair, no human could be taller than I am).

“And yet, you hide a lot about yourself even now, don’t you?” I ask.

His smile widens.

“Ah, hopefully, you do not take that as a mere gesture of distrust… I’ve been pressured to hide my traits my whole life, and most metahumans wouldn’t accept me even nowadays”, he says. “Moreover, even if _you_ happened to accept me thoroughly, things could become tricky. When a person lets down their façade, it requires more effort to put it back up. I might do more mistakes when I shouldn’t, and I would prefer to avoid unnecessary trouble–“

His sentence becomes cut by a yell coming from upstairs.

“– Like that one. It sounds like your brother noticed your trick and is searching for you. I’m sure that he will come down here quite soon… Hmm”, Racter says. He looks at me thoughtfully. “Open up your shirt”, he adds.

“Eh – why would I do that?”

“Just do it.”

I unbutton the shirt as he says. He takes a bottle of disinfectant and a clean towel. As he predicted, Duncan opens the door leading to the basement.

“Racter, is..?”

“Yes, yes. Your sibling is here”, Racter answers.

Duncan steps down. He seems irritated but also relieved that he found me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks me.

“Well…”

“We started just a moment ago. Your sibling wanted that I’d check the injuries”, Racter explains. Duncan crosses his arms.

“I could’ve done that, as well”, he points out.

“I’m sorry. I think that my head is a bit fuzzy because of the blood loss… In normal circumstances, I would’ve come to ask your help”, I say. I hiss when Racter’s soaked towel touches a sensitive spot.

“Why were there so many pillows in your bed, then?” Duncan asks, trying to make me admit the truth.

“I felt more comfortable with them… And, once again, I am not acting normally at the moment. Sorry”, I say. Duncan sighs. He doesn’t buy the lies, but he can’t prove his suspicions either.

“Fine. But you are going back to your bed after Racter is done. I’ll wait and help you up there.”

“That sounds wise. Do take a seat – this won’t take long”, Racter says. He turns his head so that only I can see his expression, and he gives me a secret grin.


	3. [Racter] Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Racter has never managed to scare the protagonist this much.

... Just _holy crap_.

Racter has certainly surprised me countless times, but this — I would’ve never imagined that something like _this_ would happen.

I hear the most frightening sound in my life…

… That is,

_sobbing_ ,

in _his_ workshop.

I’m glued to my place, unable to decide whether I should still leave or move forward. Which one is more proper, anyway? He hasn’t noticed me yet, it would seem, so maybe I could back away…

… My foot bumps into a screw lying on the stairway. Cling, clang, down it goes — and with it, my only hope of getting away.

“My friend?” Racter asks in an unusually cracked voice which makes chills go down my spine. This must be a nightmare. I force myself to go all the way down the stairs to face him.

He is sitting on his stool by the desk. Koschei rests right next to his legs. Unlike I imagined, Racter doesn’t even try to hide away his face — which is wet and slightly blushed. A couple of tears are below his eyes. However, his lips are turned into a smile.

“… Are you okay?” I manage to ask after an awkward moment of confusion.

“I made a mistake, I’m afraid”, he replies and sneezes against a tissue. I note that there are many soaked tissues on his desk.

“Ehm, I see. What kind of a mistake was it?” I ask.

“A mistake caused by simple curiosity. You see, I performed one experiment… Which started by giving instructions to my hypothalamus…” he coughs and sneezes.

“Maybe we could skip the detailed description this time. What were you trying to achieve through your experiment, and what went wrong with it?” I ask, feeling uncomfortable. He takes a wavering breath in.

“I tried to trigger my lacrimal gland to produce tears”, he says, and the realization feels like a huge wave washing over me. Oh. “The problem… It will take a couple more hours before this will stop, and that is because of that mistake I mentioned.”

He observes my reactions and shakes his head, smiling. He probably considers me silly for even thinking that he might really be crying.

“… Would you like to be alone while you wait for that to happen, then?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t actually mind having some company around. My current state makes it hard to continue with the normal tasks… A perfect time for maintaining relationships, and you seem to have a lot of questions on your mind as usual — or am I mistaken?” he replies.

“I confess that you are right”, I say. Indeed, he is. I had a whole mountain of questions even before I entered his workshop, and this situation only makes that pile bigger. I wonder whether I’ll ever be able to eliminate it altogether. Probably not.

“Then — be my guest. What would you like to discuss today?”

More tears roll down his cheeks. Talk about distracting. I know that his sobs aren’t real, but I can’t help but become tense because of them.

“… Emotions”, I manage to say. “I want to know what they are from your perspective. Say — I’ve heard that people with your condition do not have them...”

Racter gives Koschei’s chassis a slow caress.

“Do you believe that yourself?” he returns the question, forcing me to think for a moment.

“It is hard to believe that. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lack emotions altogether”, I say finally.

“Indeed. What would it be like...?” he replies. “I suppose that some forms of artificial intelligence would know the answer to that wondering. I, in turn, do not… Contrary to the popular belief, psychopaths aren’t incapable of feeling emotions.”

“I suppose that it only makes sense”, I say with a nod. “Does the condition affect those experiences, however?”

“The PCL-R lists _shallow affect_ as one of the traits, to say one thing”, he says.

“Which means...?”

“As the name suggests, it refers to having a superficial depth with emotions.”

“That only leads to more questions, Racter. What is this _depth_ you are speaking of?”

“There are many ways to look at it. One aspect is the intensity of the experienced emotion: the psychological and the physical manifestations of that feeling. For psychopathic individuals, these sensations may be blunt or short-lived”, he explains.

“I see. So, they are there nevertheless”, I reply after processing his words. “Is there any variation among different emotions, though? That is, let’s consider you instead of psychopaths as a bigger group: do you feel some emotions more than some others, or the other way around?”

“Well, my experiences with fear are minimal. I’m not sure what that sensation feels like, to be sincere…”

That is easy to believe. I can remember Racter’s obvious interest when he saw Qian Ya — the being who should’ve caused fear in him instead of fascination. I can’t come up with any greater test of fearlessness than that one.

“Are there any disadvantages to that, in your opinion?” I ask.

“In general, I think that it is an advantage. It allows me to act in situations which would affect a normal person”, Racter says. “However, I realize that you aren’t asking advantages but the other side of the coin. I confess venturing too deep into dangerous situations when I should've run away, only because I lack the natural alarm signal. I’m getting better at that nowadays, though…” He stops to pat his cheeks with a tissue. “The other issue goes around communication. When I was a child, I couldn’t read the signs of fear in others. I had to study them. In a way, it is fortunate that I ended up in therapy at a young age… It sped up the process of building up a necessary knowledge base.”

The first point I could predict; but I find the other one quite interesting.

“How did the lack of understanding impact your behavior back then? When you were a kid?”

“Hmm. There was a time when I got into a physical fight with another child. In the end, I kept beating him even when he was showing signs of fear”, he says. "Nowadays, I'd be able to notice such signs, but I wasn't educated back then."

That piece of information makes me understand Racter’s mother better — why she became concerned of her son. I do not say anything about that, as I know that Racter dislikes discussing his family.

While I think, my gaze becomes stuck at his lips once again.

“Okay, so you told me about shallow affect. You have also described the lack of empathy before, during our earlier conversations. All these details make me wonder about your external appearances… Do you honestly feel like smiling, or is that part of some sort of a façade?”

His smile only widens at my question, revealing a bit of his teeth. Tears keep falling over his cheeks. Signs of amusement and sadness, at the same time… And eyes which convey neither one of these feelings, even when they are watered.

The sight makes me feel uneasy.

… But, also blue. The heavy sensation of sadness has grown within me, little by little, all the while we have talked. Why? I can’t understand.

“It’s getting quite late, isn’t it, my friend? Moreover, I’ve answered many of your questions today. Hopefully, you do not mind if we leave that question for some other time?” he replies, clearly hinting that I should leave him be.

And that’s what I do, after wishing him a calm night.

The heavy feeling stays around, though.

Duncan is upstairs. Before I know it, I’ve trapped him in a hug.

“Hey — are you okay?” he asks, surprised by the sudden affectionate gesture.

“… It’s nothing. I’m just happy to see you.”


	4. [Racter] Lies

”You were diagnosed* at the age of eight, right?”

“Yes, that is correct”, Racter confirms.

“And you received the maximum score, 40 points, out of the PCL-R.”

“Yes… Where are you going with this?” he asks. I click my tongue and take a deep breath in.

“Well. I suppose that it doesn’t matter much in practice, but I doubt your sincerity about that”, I say. He doesn’t seem to react much to my statement.

“Then, by all means. Enlighten me — where is the lie?” he asks, leaning against his desk, relaxed. He most likely already knows how this discussion is going to continue, but I’ll need to put my thoughts into spoken words nevertheless.

“Well, to say one thing… You were a young child. They wouldn’t push such a diagnosis to someone of that age”, I start.

“Such a system is easy to circumvent. My mother was desperate to find a way to cure me, and she was a rather — resourceful woman, you could say”, he replies. “Of course, you could question the validity of such testing, based on the fact that I was too young during the time. However, I could point out that psychopathy is a condition which you are born with. Therefore, there are children who are psychopaths.”

“We can assume that your arguments are valid. But. I checked the PCL-R which you mentioned earlier, and… Well. The problem is, I can’t believe that you could score so high when you were only eight”, I say. I take a paper out of my pocket and check my notes. “Sexually promiscuous. Several short marital relationships…”

He waves his hand.

“Very well, my friend — let’s say that you caught me. I’m impressed… I confess having a tendency of exaggerating details and spicing up my stories a bit.”

_A bit_. I do not comment anything, but I can’t help but find him funny, in a way. He continues:

“I swear that I do that only with insignificant matters, though. As you said earlier, it doesn’t matter how young I was or how many points I received. Moreover, I’ve never been fond of that scoring system — it doesn’t take into account the fact that not all, psychopaths included, are interested in sex and relationships.”

“Since I notice that you take pride in your psychopathy, I can reassure you… You might be lacking points there, but I’d give you extra points at the part: _pathological lying_ ”, I say. He gives me a smile, and, for a fleeting moment, I feel like a teacher who is giving a gold star to their ace student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * EDIT: As Racter pointed out in the game, "diagnosed" would be an incorrect word (even though he used that word himself at first). Psychopathy may be "assessed", however. [PCL-R](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychopathy_Checklist) (The Psychopathy Checklist: revised) is one tool used for that.


	5. [Is0bel] Unsolved Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The protagonist goes to have a discussion with Is0bel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An attempt to give more attention to other characters besides Racter. Much to my shame, I haven't put enough effort into them (despite liking them in the game), and thus they have been one-dimensional in my earlier stories. My apologies about that and potential mistakes in this story.

Is0bel’s room is always illuminated with a blue light. It’s calming, and there’s definitely something beautiful about it, but I’ve often wondered whether it ever becomes heavy for her eyes: I’ve read plenty of recommendations that you should prefer warm lights, especially during the nighttime.

Is0bel has once again left her body behind, and it seems like I’ve walked to a crime scene. It doesn’t help that she has been working with some project and thus, her room looks like a mess of wires and different tools.

Gobbet made a prank one time and spread red liquid onto the floor, right next to Is0bel’s slouched vessel. I admit that it managed to startle me. I gave Gobbet a lengthy lecture as a result — and Is0bel gave another one when she returned to her form of flesh. Gobbet hasn’t made similar pranks after that.

Is0bel notices that I’m present. Her avatar appears to the view. She seems tense, which catches my attention immediately.

“What do you have in mind?” she asks.

“I just came to check how you are doing”, I say. “Is there something wrong? You usually seem relaxed whenever you are in there.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to be concerned of. I simply had a debate with one technomancer… She is obstinate that sprites are spirits, which is utter nonsense”, she sighs.

“Eh, I confess that your words do not mean much to me. Cybermancers are people who—”

“ _Technomancers_. Cybermancing is a completely different thing”, Is0bel corrects.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that”, I say and scratch my neck. “Anyway, technomancers can interact with the Matrix without using any intermediate technology, or so I’ve understood… But, what the heck are sprites?”

“Sprites are digital entities of sorts. They remind one of normal programs, but they act in ways which indicate that they need to have complex algorithms behind them. They also seem to appear out of thin air… Apparently, technomancers create them, but I haven’t figured out how they do it”, she explains and sighs.

“Hmm, your description reminds me of Elder Ng. I admit that my memory is a bit fuzzy — was she a technomancer?”

“No, she was a shaman who believed that her totem is a sprite”, Is0bel says. She rubs her digital temple. “I don’t like to think of the events back then. It’s enough that I’m constantly reminded of them because of Gaichu’s presence.”

“I won’t talk about that topic, in that case. Anyway — you seem to dislike technomancers?”

“You would think the same in my position. I’ve worked hard to become as good as I am. They received their abilities without trying. Even though it’s clear that they can somehow enter the Matrix by using their own ways, I won’t buy into the lie that they could also create beings with souls”, she says. “Their methods are a mystery which causes me headache, but I’m sure that they will be uncovered someday.”

“Okay, I can see the problem”, I say. I really can — I’d certainly be frustrated in a similar situation. It’s fortunate that I’m focused on guns, explosives and social engineering instead. “… You know, your words actually remind me of that guy in the basement. The Russian, I mean.”

She cocks her head forwards and looks at me with suspicious eyes.

“I’m not sure whether I’d like to hear an explanation or not”, she states. I take her words as a command to elaborate nevertheless.

“He thinks that supernatural things could be explained with hard sciences. You remember that one time when we had a discussion with a mummy?”

“Yeah, that was quite creepy. You were wise for declining its deal.”

“Well, we all saw that being with our own eyes. I talked with Racter afterwards and he still insisted that there are no souls”, I say.

“He did, huh”, she replies thoughtfully. “What about when we met Qian Ya? I did believe her to be a tale in the beginning, but I have changed my views.”

“The same thing. He thinks that Yama Kings can also be explained in materialistic terms.”

“Well, he _is_ a weird person. I’ve known that ever since he moved into the ship”, Is0bel says. “I have a bad feeling where you are going with this… I’ll be clear: I’m nothing like him. Living beings and digital creatures aren’t the same. The former have essence, to say one thing; the latter lack that as far as I’m aware.”

“As far as you are aware?”

“Hey, you didn’t even know what sprites were a moment ago — and now, you are arguing that they are spirits?”

“No, I’m not insisting anything. As you say, I do not have knowledge about this topic… I respect your skills and trust that you know a lot about this subject, but I want to form my opinions based on multiple sources of information. Thus, I wouldn’t close any doors as of yet”, I reply.

She sighs in a frustrated tone.

“Fine, go ahead. I’m sorry, but this discussion doesn’t help my headache at all… Can we talk more later?”

I shrug.

“Yeah, I won’t take more of your time if you want to do something else.”

Her avatar flickers away. I take a moment admiring the blue lights and listening to the peaceful humming of her devices; and after that, I go down the stairs, head filled with new information and questions.


	6. [Gaichu] さようなら

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The protagonist made the decision and left with Duncan.

You made your decision and left.

It wasn’t easy for you, that could be seen. Your instincts told you one thing, your conscious side another. Which side supported which option, I can’t know for sure. You never wanted to talk much about yourself, always turning the conversation to the matters of the other person.

A smile comes to my lips: and I always thought that _I_ am a private person.

You used to come to see me. I never came to your doorstep, in turn… Partially because you visited me frequently; partially because I didn’t see it proper to explore the ship further than what I had been given: the entrance, the stairway, the space behind the workshop of the Russian rigger. I was content with being allowed to live in those parts.

Now, you are gone, and I am in your room.

Your scent is the first thing that captures my attention. It’s mild, so mild that I wouldn’t have noticed it in my former life. Some of it consists of normal bodily substances: sweat, for instance. That is no surprise, of course, but that sensation brings me a mind-image of you exercising in this room. You were determined to maintain and improve your mind, body and skills; something which I respect.

There is also the smell of old, dry blood. In our line of duty, that is also to be expected.

I examine the tangible surroundings, feeling different surfaces with my fingers, trying to avoid making marks with my sharp claws. You have left many books behind, but I cannot tell what titles they are. In any case, they are quite thick and — judging from the smell — old. They also have a gentle smell of burnt candles around them—

— Ahh. That’s it. You did mention that you borrowed some books from the merchant, Crafty Xu, to gather information for our upcoming run. Even though I haven’t visited the shop myself, I have passed by the area during the silent hours. It’s impossible to miss the scent of candles even when you are outside. You most likely intended to return the books, but life tends to come with its unpredictable twists and turns.

I decide to return the books to her in your place, later.

I come to your bed. It seems like you preferred to use the lower bunk. I could form that conclusion using scents, once again; however, the mattress has a noticeable depression in the middle of it. Of course, it’s possible that this could’ve been caused by the person who inhabited this room before you — but, then again, I have a feeling that you would’ve taken the flatter mattress of the upper bunk in that case.

The scene makes me think how you asked people to describe their dreams. "Isn't this reality we live in like a dream?" I answered at first when it was my turn. Your clear frustration made me laugh back then.

Something tiny and cold meets my fingers. I lift it up and observe it. For some reason, there was a bullet underneath your pillow. Intentional? It's hard to believe that it was there by pure accident, but I can't fathom why you had hidden such an object there.

My wondering becomes cut by a voice:

“Oh, hey, Gaichu. Are you here to recall memories about Seattle?”

Gobbet is on the other side of the open door.

I have nothing against Gobbet — she is a brisk and direct person, and those are good traits. However, she and I aren't close enough for a thorough discussion. You could wonder why I opened up to you, then, even though we hadn't known for long. You had valid reasons for requiring information regarding my past, but we went further than the necessary facts.

You probably remember when I asked you whether you had ever met a person and somehow, deep within your core, had known that your lives are interwoven? Sayuri made me feel it. You did, too, in a different yet very much meaningful way. The vibe around you encouraged me to try to reason with you when we met. That is also why I decided to follow you to meet the Leaders. You could've deceived me and taken me to a death trap. I followed my instinct and it told me to trust you, to let you close.

“I was asked to return these”, I say and show her the books. She lets me exit the room with them and the bullet.

As I enter the basement, it occurs to me that I could've asked Gobbet to return the books instead. Ah, well.

When I’m in my quarters, I place the bullet into the box with other mementos. At that moment, a poem comes to my mind:

 

> Even one who claims  
>  to no longer have a heart  
>  feels this sad beauty:  
>  a snipe flying up from a marsh  
>  on an evening in autumn.

 

You are away, but life will continue. Thus, goodbye, my friend, and thank you for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is by Saigyō Hōshi, translation by Carter.
> 
> EDIT: The text had a part "destinies are interwoven". Changed "destinies" to "lives" as the former would've given a wrong idea.


	7. [Racter] Stare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Racter and the protagonist have a discussion about eye contact.

After knowing Racter for half a year, I can’t stop the sentence from coming out:

”Just — how the heck do you do that.”

Racter gives me a puzzled look.

”I do not understand what you are talking about. Is this about my smoking again?” he asks.

”No, no, not that”, I say. Then, I point my finger at his eyes and then mine. ”That. Your stare.”

”Oh”, he says but doesn’t turn his gaze one bit. ”Does it bother you?” he adds with a smile that just stretches wider. He knows the answer, and the bastard is even enjoying the effect he has over me.

”Yes, it does”, I reply in a puff of air. I should’ve known better than to expect him to say something along the lines: ” _Oh, I’m sorry, my friend. Here, I’ll turn my eyes away from you_.” Instead of that, Racter asks:

”Would you like to know why you have such a reaction to it?”

I almost give out a dry laugh.

”Go ahead. Why?”

”There are some theories regarding the subject. You aren’t the only one who is affected by keeping up eye contact, you see…” he starts. ”Well, one of them goes around your amygdala, the part of the brain which registers possible threatening situations. Your brain has evolved into noticing potential predators because they stare at you.”

”Is staring just a show of dominance for you, then?” I ask. ”… Don’t tell me that this is another psychopathy thing.”

”Even though it may be entertaining to test how long another person can look back, that is not the main reason why I may look at you. As for whether this has something to do with psychopathy — meanwhile it is true that people talk about the so-called disturbing ’ _psychopathic stare_ ’, I would like to point out that non-psychopathic people can stare a lot; and, on the other hand, psychopaths do not necessarily have to do any particularly noteworthy staring.”

I scratch my neck.

”Okay… How do you explain why eye contact doesn’t feel bad at all times?” I ask.

”Ah, eye contact can be used as a way to deepen bonds between individuals. Romantic relationships are the classic example of when people look into each others’ eyes, but eye contact can have positive effects on platonic relationships, too. When you maintain eye contact, you are signaling that the other person has your attention”, he explains. ”Add a smile to that, and you are making the other party feel appreciated, important and interesting.”

”Yes, I know that there are other types of stares. What kind of factors influence the vibes, though?"

”There are many possible culprits, my friend… Say, culture, your relationship with the other person, the length of the uninterrupted stare — and whether the other person’s pupils become bigger, like this”, he says, and before I manage to even register his words completely, his pupils blow large. I almost jump, startled.

”Wow, _wow_. No offense, but that’s _creepy_ ”, I say. Racter’s pupils go back to normal.

”Well, I suppose that I made the change too quickly”, he shrugs.

I do not comment that he simply looked disturbing with blown pupils… Shreds of manners, I suppose.

”What if we continue with our original topic… Tell me, what are these other theories why I feel uncomfortable?”

”Ah, maintaining eye contact can swallow up cognitive resources. You may find it harder to continue with your tasks while you also look at someone’s eyes. I can confirm that your head turns away whenever you need to think”, he says, after which he takes a pause with enjoying his cigarette.

”I haven’t noticed doing that… But, you may be right”, I say, lost in thought — and notice that I broke eye contact with him again. Racter chuckles.

”There is a lot about this topic out there, so I’m afraid that I’ll have to stop with these examples here. Did you find these theories interesting?” he asks.

”Yeah. Actually, those gave me something to think about”, I answer after thinking for a moment. ”It also occurred to me that it could be quite handy to have your skill. Would you happen to have tips for that?”

”The easiest trick? Replace your eyes with cybernetic ones.”

”That’s harsh, Racter”, I say. He grins.

”My projects take so much time that I can’t become a tutor for you. In fact, I’d like to request you to give me some time and space now”, he says. ”However. I’ll give you one tip… When you talk with someone else next time, try to describe their eyes in your mind: the color, the shape, the emotions behind them, so on.”

After that, I leave him be.

Try to describe their eyes… Well, since I was about to take a round around town anyway, I could start practicing right away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Added "... and, on the other hand, psychopaths do not necessarily have to do any particularly noteworthy staring". Thought to give that more emphasis.


	8. [Racter] A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small horror-ish story snippet, written around a drawing.

Racter was surrounded by darkness, the only thing bringing some light being his glove. Normally, he could've used Koschei's sensors as a guide, but the drone was nowhere, not even close — Racter couldn’t feel any connection.

That made him feel even more uncomfortable than being without cigarettes.

He took some steps, slowly, carefully, while using his right arm as a dim lantern.

Apparently, he was in an empty, large space, considering that he walked quite a bit before meeting a wall.

  
And what a wall it was. The cracks seemed more like wounds. Blood oozed from them, dripping down the surface. Teeth came out of the wall as well, sharp teeth with thick webs of saliva hanging from them.

Racter felt curiosity and, against all common sense, touched the wall with his hand, letting his fingers and palm rest against the plane — which turned out to be moist and soft and gave slightly in under his light pressure.

Then, he felt the pulse.

He didn’t just sense it with his hand. It felt like he, himself, moved in that strange rhythm, up, down, up, down. He removed his hand, and the alien motion stopped. He placed the hand back there, and the same happened all over again.

Someone else would've been frightened, perhaps, and, in theory, Racter knew that he was in trouble. Yet, he couldn't _feel_ afraid. All he felt was curiosity.


	9. [Racter] The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The protagonist makes a deal with Racter in order to gain more information about him. 
> 
> Warnings: Potentially disturbing themes (i.e. animal cruelty).

Racter dipped his head into a bowl of water when I came down. He was wearing his pants but lacking his jacket and shirt. He kept his head under the water for a moment; then, he brought it up, and drops dripped down from his face and hair. He stopped the water from getting everywhere with a towel.

After that, he looked at me. He didn’t seem to be surprised at all, even though the water had most likely silenced my steps. Koschei had noticed me almost immediately — maybe those two had a special kind of connection, informing each other of their surroundings?

“Good evening”, Racter said while continuing to dry his upper body.

“Why not take a shower?” I asked. He rose his eyebrows at that.

“Surely, you have noticed what has happened?”

“I’ve been away the whole day. What do you mean?”

“To put it in brief, Gobbet made an experiment in the shower… As a result, the shower is blasted now. You can ask her for specifics if you like.”

“Oh”, I simply said. “So, you prefer to use a bucket instead of fixing the shower?”

Racter gave me a long look.

“I’m a roboticist, my friend. Not someone who goes on fixing showers”, he scoffed. I shrugged.

“Well, sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you”, I replied. He was dry now, and so he went on putting on a clean black shirt.

“What if we make a deal?” I suggested while following him button up his shirt in a systematic manner.

“What do you offer to me?” he asked.

“I’ll get the shower fixed.”

“What are you requesting in return?” he continued.

“You will tell me more of your childhood.”

He buttoned the rest of his shirt in silence.

“You do realize that it wouldn’t be a fair exchange, yes? I didn’t break the shower; Gobbet did. You are basically expecting me to pay in order to get her mistake fixed”, he pointed out. I considered his words.

“Very well, let’s say that you make a good point. Is there anything which would make you talk, though?” I asked.

“About my childhood?”

“Yes, about your childhood.”

“To be honest, I do not understand why you are so interested in it”, he stated. “It’s in the past and cannot be changed… Now, the present moment and the future? They can be influenced.”

I knew that it was time to redirect the topic, or else the conversation was going to fall into the post-humanism, once again. So, before he managed to continue, I said:

“I’m curious because your past consists of steps which have led you to be you. I’ve talked with other team members, and those discussions have revealed some of their childhoods. You have mentioned some glimpses, but it’s clear that you are avoiding the topic.”

“And you are like a child who sees a closed door and is told not to look in?” he asked, staring at me.

“Maybe — but I’m someone who negotiates about it. Now. Do you have a price or not?”

I was met with a moment of silence. A sign of pondering. Promising — he wouldn’t have stopped to think if he couldn’t have come up with anything worth it. Finally, he said:

“Our upcoming run will take us into a laboratory. Our client requested us to eliminate all data associated with Project 5018… However, from what I’ve heard about that project, it sounds too interesting to be destroyed — simply because of two companies fighting against each other. Therefore, my price: you will allow me to have a copy of that data.”

“We were told that the data contains dangerous material. I’m not certain whether it is a good idea to keep it stored anywhere”, I replied.

“Take into consideration that the companies are rivals. Of course the other one will claim that the other one is ethically questionable. Even if the data did reveal such information, I can reassure you that no harm will come out of me having it”, he said.

“Is that all?” I asked.

“I will let you make one question about my childhood. Just one. If you want more questions, you will have to pay for them separately.”

I thought for a moment and sighed.

“Fine”, I said. One question… Racter lit a cigarette while I wondered what to ask.

“What is your earliest memory?”

His face became hidden behind a cloud of smoke for some seconds.

“My earliest memory, you ask”, he stated. He took a pause. It was hard to say whether he was using it to recall memories or not, or whether he had other reasons for being quiet. “I can’t remember how young I was, back then. Very young, though, that much I can say. I was outside with my mother. It was raining, and I had yellow boots covering my small feet. A cat came running towards us, chasing a mouse. The little being was so frightened that it ran straight at me, probably thinking that it could potentially climb my legs to get away from the cat.”

“Did it climb your legs, then?”

“No… I stepped on it before it did”, he said.

“You — stepped on it?”

“Yes, that is what I did.”

I couldn’t help frowning at the mind image.

“When I lifted my leg, the mouse was crushed against the ground. I think that was the first time when I had seen a broken living being. I realized that there is more to creatures than just the surface. I crouched and tried to open up the mouse a bit more to get a peek inside, but my mother screamed and stopped me from doing so.”

Racter tilted his head.

“That is my earliest memory”, he ended the story. Then, he said: “You are disturbed by it, it seems.”

“I didn’t expect something like that, to be sincere. Can I still ask you: was curiosity all you felt during that time?”

“You are interested whether I felt bad for crushing the mouse”, he said. “No, I didn’t. And before you get any wrong ideas: Even though I am a psychopathic individual, that event didn’t prove anything back then. You caught me earlier for saying that I was diagnosed* at the age of eight. The reason why children aren’t diagnosed is because their brains aren’t yet fully developed. Say, most children lack empathy, even the ‘normal’ ones — those who do develop that side later on in their lives.”

“Still…”

“Do I need to give you more evidence? Well, let’s say that I’m feeling generous today. I’ll tell you some sights I saw when I was a child. I saw a kid who used a dead bird as a toy. I saw a boy who had caught a fly and tore its legs, one by one, while the insect was alive. I saw children who had trapped a snake and tortured it with sticks. I saw a girl who used a stone to crush ants, giggling all the time. I saw those things and more; yet, no-one ever questioned their normalcy. Sure, they were considered naughty, but they weren’t forced to go to counseling. Their actions weren’t constantly monitored. They weren’t expected to act so normal that no normal child acts that way.”

Racter didn’t sound angry. A bit tired, instead.

I couldn’t say anything to that. His words triggered my own memories, things which I would've wanted to forget.

Adults always want to imagine children to be pure, beings who can’t cause any harm.

Racter moved some tools on his desk and took a book from underneath them. He swiped dust from top of the book, then handed it to me.

“This is _The Brothers Karamazov_ by Dostoevsky. If you aren’t familiar with the book, I’d recommend it to you. Personally, I like it, and I trust that it could give you something to think about”, he said. “But, now. I fulfilled my side of the deal, and I expect you to do yours when the time comes. I ask you to leave me to my tasks.”

I took the book and glanced at its thickness. It had been some time since I had read something with so many pages.

“Okay — I’ll read it. I wish you a nice night, Racter”, I said and left his workshop. I dropped the book into my room, went outside. After discussions like that, one needs to get some fresh air first before diving further in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * EDIT: This is a reference to chapter 4: Lies. As noted at the end of that chapter:
> 
> As Racter pointed out in the game, "diagnosed" would be an incorrect word (even though he used that word himself at first). Psychopathy may be "assessed", however. [PCL-R](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychopathy_Checklist) (The Psychopathy Checklist: revised) is one tool used for that.


	10. [Racter] (Dis)connected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The protagonist wakes up from a strange dream, only to enter to the strange reality.

It’s a bizarre thing to slide back into consciousness, little by little, only to feel your arm moving on its own.  
  
I was lying on my bed but couldn’t get up. I was paralyzed and found it hard to even breathe — but, even so, my arm kept moving, twisting up, left, right, into all directions; fingers curled and bent.  
  
Raymond was there, standing only a couple of meters away. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem to be even thinking much about the situation.  
  
I couldn’t say anything to him. My hand twisted again and showed him the middle finger.

* * *

  
  
That’s when I really woke up. Not in my room, though. The surrounding smell was too smoky for that. But my arm kept doing it even still, moving as though it had been possessed by a demon.  
  
This time, I could move, however weakly.  
  
“What…” I coughed and opened my eyes. I felt drained and tired.  
  
“Ah, you woke up! That is a good sign”, Racter’s voice came from nearby. He was next to the bed — a mattress on the floor — sitting, legs crossed. Koschei rested behind him. I noticed that plenty of wires came from my arm, connecting me to some sort of a device; and similar wires went to Racter’s arm. “No, you shouldn’t waste your time trying to talk now, my friend. You need to drink first—”  
  
Racter moved his arm closer to a glass of water. When he did so, my arm moved, too, making me yelp.  
  
“Oh, my mistake”, he said and pushed some buttons on the device. My arm felt like my own again after that. Racter proceeded to give me the glass.  
  
“What the hell, Racter?” I managed to ask after drinking a couple of gulps.  
  
“Those are the first words you decide to utter to me? After I’ve taken care of you for five days?” he asked, blinking, reminding me how much it annoyed me when he obviously exaggerated or even faked emotions.  
  
“Taken care of…” I murmured and looked around. I was in Racter’s workshop. How or why, I couldn’t recall.  
  
“You caught quite a nasty case of fever, I’m afraid”, he said.  
  
“Fever. Okay, that explains why I can’t remember… But, what the fuck am I doing here? Duncan wouldn’t have agreed to me being here, for certain”, I said. Racter’s facial expression was hard to read.  
  
“Let’s say that I never asked his opinion about this…” he replied finally, in his usual sly manner.  
  
“You never… Why, I can’t understand…” I said and was about to rub my temples — but stopped because my attention was brought back to the wires again.  
  
“… Or, maybe I do understand. Even too well. God damn it, Racter”, I groaned. “I’ll hazard a guess! You dragged my close-to-unconscious body to be used for your experiments; then, made some kind of a plausible explanation why I was gone.”  
  
Racter’s grin widened.  
  
“Frankly, I cannot comprehend why you are so furious. You are in an improved shape currently, not in a worsened one”, he pointed out. He didn’t even try to deny my accusations, which, in a way, made me even angrier.  
  
“You could also consider this, my friend: wasn’t it just a fair exchange? Both parties received mutual benefits out of this arrangement—"  
  
“I never asked for your help nor gave a permission for you to use me as a test subject!” I snarled.  
  
“So, you are saying that we should’ve let you lie on the cold floor just because you wouldn’t have been able to ask for help..?” he asked, tilting his head. Koschei mimicked the gesture.  
  
I let out a heavy puff, then lied back down.  
  
“That’s not the point. You should be aware of that even with your twisted logic…” I sighed. “You know, you said that we both received mutual benefits. If Duncan had treated me, he would’ve been happy to just see me get better… A prize in itself. You, on the other hand…”  
  
Racter wiggled his index finger at me.  
  
“You are misinterpreting me deliberately now, aren’t you? I’m pleased that you are feeling better.”  
  
“Because I’m useful to you?” I pressed.  
  
“You are stating that as if it were an insult”, he remarked. Once again, he did not deny my words. I groaned loudly. He observed me in silence.  
  
“I’m not interested in getting into a fight with you. Yes, I do consider you useful; and yes, I also know that normally wired people can become offended by that word. I know that you would prefer me to like you. You want to be seen as a goal instead of a means to an end. As you know, most people are like you in that regard, thus I’ve naturally noticed that common preference ages ago”, he said. “However, as we have discussed, I can’t simply see other living beings that way. I could lie to you and fake feelings which I do not have…”  
  
“That would be noticed sooner or later, Racter”, I remarked.  
  
“I doubt that. I faked feelings for a couple of decades or so, and no-one suspected a thing. Your observations are sharp, but not that sharp”, he said. “Anyway… I could lie about my condition, but I decided to be open to you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I tell you highly personal information, and you reward me with continuous suspicions and accusations, even anger?”  
  
“You are guilt tripping me.”  
  
“Case in point”, Racter said. “Well, my friend. You say that I keep you around ‘just’ because you are useful to me. You seem to loathe me. Why do you keep me around, if not for the fact that I’m useful to you?”  
  
“I…” I started but stopped. Racter sat still, listening to the sound of silence. He wasn’t obviously waiting for me to form any reply; he was just enjoying the fact that he had backed me into a corner.  
  
“There, you see! And I do not mind at all that you consider me useful; quite the opposite. My status is secured as long as my skills are needed, and I get satisfaction out of doing my work well”, he continued, pleased with getting to this point in the discussion.  
  
Damn the fever. I was sure that I would’ve come up with some counterarguments in normal circumstances, but my mind felt a bit foggy still.  
  
“Would you please remove the wires?” I asked, frustration pouring out of my tone.  
  
“Ah, not yet, my friend! I know that you will try to escape my workshop the instant I free you. However, you were correct that I lied to the other teammates about your absence. Should you tell them the truth, I’m quite sure that some tension would rise…”  
  
“Are you keeping me your prisoner until I promise to repeat your lies?”  
  
“No, I’m not foolish. You could give me a promise now, be freed and break the promise right afterwards. Of course, I have taken really thorough care of you, so it would be impolite of you to trash my reputation… But I know that you wouldn’t consider that enough, saying that you didn’t ever request my assistance in the first place. Can I do something for you in exchange for your silence about these events?”  
  
“An exchange?” I repeated.  
  
“Yes, an exchange… With some limitations, of course”, he said.  
  
I didn’t genuinely expect him to suggest such. I pondered for some time, until my eyes turned towards the wires again.  
  
“… Apparently, this device lets you have control over biological arms. I want to try out controlling yours”, I said.  
  
“Your brain is working quite splendidly, all things considered. You are correct — that’s what the device does. And, why not? Sure. It will be just an interesting experience for me, as well”, he replied, changed the placements of some wires and turned on the device.  
  
I tested out lifting my hand. His did the same, at the same time.  
  
“The controls work really smoothly. There are no lags at all, at least any which a metahuman eye could see”, I commented, trying out moving his fingers.  
  
“Lags would be greater if the wires were longer”, Racter said. “Of course, the quality of the wires would have an effect as well. These are not the best wires one could get on the markets, but they satisfy my needs.”  
  
My chin tickled, and I scratched it without thinking. I felt Racter’s skin and short, sharp stubs of beard underneath my fingers. The sudden feeling startled me.  
  
“And it lets me feel what you feel, too”, I said. He chuckled.  
  
“Quite fascinating, no? Now, think what it would be like if our vessels were completely united; separate but still one, in a way… A bit like with Koschei and me.”  
  
“That would be surreal”, I said. Then, it occurred to me: “… However, how would that even work… Who would be in control—”  
  
I paused. The rising thought and its potential conclusions disgusted me.  
  
“Oh, never mind. I’ve had enough. Release me, now”, I commanded.  
  
“If you say so”, he said with a shrug and obliged. After that, I forced myself to my feet.  
  
“Remember that we made a deal. You can tell the others whatever you like; just say that you were out of town free-willingly.”  
  
 I grunted as a response; then, climbed back up, into the world of normality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I know that you would prefer me to like you" [...] "However, as we have discussed, I can’t simply see other living beings that way."
> 
> The word "like" may be misleading. You can "like" objects, abstract ideas, animals, other human beings (etc.), but these may be completely different ways of "liking" something. Here, Racter is referring specifically to "appreciating another humanoid / living being, in the way ‘normal’ people would understand the feeling”.


	11. [Racter & Koschei] A Thankless Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not read this before the previous chapter, or else some details won't make much sense.
> 
> Roles become reversed. This chapter isn't to be taken seriously.

”Racter! I’m just informing you that you will be needed on Sunday. I shared the message with the rest of the crew, so you can read the details of the run. Okay?” I yelled from the door leading to downstairs. No answer came.  
  
“Okay?” I repeated, now with an annoyed emphasis. When silence just kept continuing, I decided to check whether he was out or not.  
  
I saw Koschei. He seemed agitated. When I approached, his behavior turned even somewhat aggressive. Racter and I had gone through countless disputes, but the drone hadn’t ever acted like this before. I slowed my pace but kept coming closer.  
  
Finally, I got close enough to see the workshop from a better angle. At first, I saw only monitors and blue lights and his mechanical arms, but then I turned my head towards the floor.  
  
Racter was lying there, unmoving.  
  
I took a step towards him, but Koschei revealed his chainsaws and clearly threatened me.  
  
“Wow, wow. Look. I get that your master — or, uhm, controller? Builder? Father? Parent? Whatever! — has programmed you to protect him, and you think that you are doing that currently, but… That’s not it. I’m not here to hurt him. I’m here to help, and you are standing in my way…” I said, then rolled my eyes at my own ridiculousness. Talking to a drone? Trying to reason with it? What was I thinking?  
  
However, when I looked at Koschei, it seemed like the drone could understand my intentions, at least to some degree. His chainsaws slowed down until they stopped whirring.  
  
I frowned and took a careful step, keeping my eyes on the drone. Koschei, in turn, kept his multiple eyes on me. I sneaked past him, little by little, until I got to Racter.  
  
“Hey, can you hear me?” I asked but didn't get an answer; he was out cold. I turned him around so that he was lying on his back. I could see that he was breathing, albeit unsteadily. His cheeks were blushing. I tested his forehead, and the warmth and sweatiness confirmed my suspicions:  
  
He had caught the same fever which I had had some time ago.  
  
The realization broke me into a laughter.  
  
“Serves you right!” I couldn’t help exclaiming. Koschei tapped his feet against the metal floor in a manner which forced me to calm down my schadenfreude.  
  
When the highest peak of glee vanished, I understood the consequences: I couldn’t just leave him be like that. No-one in the team would have been eager to take care of him; Ambrose, in turn, had a minimal space, reserved for more urgent matters than these.  
  
That left only me as an option. I groaned.  
  
“Very well! I will do it”, I thought. “I will nurse him back to health before the run comes. But I won’t do it here. I’ll need to carry him to my room.”  
  
Easier said than done, I soon noticed. Racter didn’t respond to my attempts at waking him up. He was surprisingly heavy, probably because of the material of his lower anatomy. I managed to get a hold of him somehow, though.  
  
But then, the biggest problem: Koschei.  
  
The drone seemed to be extremely suspicious of my plans to move his master.  
  
“Koschei. I do not know how much you can understand me… I’ll need to move Racter for his own sake. It’s hot in here, and the air is too thick, very unsuitable for a recovering patient. I ask you to allow me to get him out of here.”  
  
The drone didn’t seem to be convinced. Racter’s weight felt heavy in my arms, and I was very frustrated by the situation.  
  
“Okay, you know what. You can personally follow me and him around all you like… See for yourself that I’m telling you the truth. And if I’m not? Well, we both know that you have quite an arsenal. You could hurt or butcher me anytime you liked. Will you let us pass?”  
  
That seemed to do the trick. I was surprised to find out that Koschei could comprehend speech. I carried Racter with me, slowly but somewhat steadily, towards the stairs and up; and Koschei followed right behind us.  
  
Finally, we got into my room. I let Racter fall onto my bed with a loud thud. I lifted his legs there, too, and noticed his shoes.  
  
“No-one comes into my bed with those”, I scoffed inside my mind and started to remove them… But, after a moment, I remembered that, yes, Racter had very creepy and pointy feet. Once I discarded one of his shoes, his foot took a monstrous form.  
  
“Eh, Racter?” I tried to talk to him. For some reason, this time, it worked. Racter cracked his eyes open a bit.  
  
“Could you make your feet more… Compact? They are poking holes into my bed”, I said without any introductory explanation of the situation. His toes slid into his feet after that, like snakes retreating into their holes.  
  
“Great”, I said. It felt strange to be around him when he was this quiet.  
  
“When have you drunk last?” I inquired. He gave me an expression which told me that he wasn’t sure. I decided to make him drink, just in case. I gave him a glass at first, but his hand couldn’t hold it and the water splashed on him and the blanket underneath him. I managed to move him and lift the blanket before the liquid got into the mattress.  
  
“Okay, I’ll hold the glass this time”, I puffed. I wondered whether I had been like this during those days when Racter had treated me; and whether Racter had felt as frustrated as I did at that moment. Patience had never been my virtue.  
  
I managed to make him drink successfully this time around.  
  
“Your shirt is all wet… Well, to be honest, it already was. You have been sweating quite a lot. I’ll go fetch you a dry and clean shirt. I could also get your own blanket.”  
  
When I returned, I helped him change his shirt; then, I placed him under the blanket, head resting against a pillow. He closed his eyes and drifted asleep again.  
  
Koschei, in turn, kept watch. He seemed to monitor my every movement, calculating whether any of them could harm Racter. He was like an angry dog trying to protect his human friend.  
  
I wetted a small towel and placed it over Racter’s forehead. I looked at his resting face and thought: “These are going to be some tedious days.”  


* * *

  
They were tedious days, indeed. Slowly, I realized how much I had to assist him: to eat, to wash the sweat out of his form, to keep him suitably cool, to drink, to get to the toilet… The list was long. It didn’t help that Koschei kept tip-tapping right behind me all the time, ready to plunge his blades into me if I made a wrong move.  
  
It really opened my eyes. I had never taken care of anyone when they were going through a high fever or some other similar condition… Duncan had never become this sick, and I had never taken care of anyone else in my life before this.  
  
When I had been sick, Racter had done all this. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been in an alright condition after my visit downstairs.  
  
It baffled me. Why had he even bothered? I doubted that he couldn’t have performed his experiments without my sick vessel around — I was sure that there would’ve been much easier ways than to take care of a sick person, to tend to a fragile plant on the brink of withering.  
  
It’s bizarre how I had thought that I couldn’t understand his mind any less. This proved that there were no limits to his unknown ways.  
  
I also made a mistake during his haziest moments. He was talking in his sleep, in Russian. I couldn’t understand a word of that, but I used a translator and…  
  
… Listened to a long rant about technical calculations and designs.  
  
… Heard him speak an awful lot of the post-humanistic future. Fever made his visions probably even stranger, but his words confirmed that, yep, I didn’t want any of that.  
  
... Had to acknowledge that maybe, _maybe_ there was some truth in his earlier talks about his past. I had suspected that he had tried to win my sympathy by telling a story about being a kid, shivering underneath thin blankets, asking his mother to add more. His current state most likely rendered him unable to create strategic lies. This last topic was the hardest one to listen to — because it hadn't been so long ago when Racter had questioned my tendency to doubt his every word.  
  
It’s odd how I was even angrier at him for telling some truths.  


* * *

  
  
Fortunately, this didn’t last forever. One morning, Racter’s health had improved greatly and he insisted to be allowed to go downstairs.  
  
“And no thanks?” I asked, frowning at him.  
  
He gave me a grin.  
  
“Why would I owe you my gratitude? Did I ever ask for your assistance in the first place?” he asked and winked his eye playfully at me — a clear reference to my own past words. I snarled as he exited the room, chuckling, and Koschei followed after him like a shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the previous chapter were written rather quickly, and I wasn't sure whether they should even be posted here. However, here they are: ridiculous sick fics that absolutely no-one asked for.


	12. [Racter] Expressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unpolished discussion between the "So-Tired-of-Your-BS-Racter" Protagonist and, unsurprisingly, Racter.

Being a team leader continued revealing new sides of me. I hadn't known that I had a hidden talent for family counseling, for instance; and I certainly hadn’t been aware that, deep within my subconscious side, I had to enjoy tormenting myself.

I wouldn’t have continued stepping down into Racter’s eerie den otherwise, for sure, only to become infuriated or at least frustrated.

”You said that you faked feelings for a couple of decades”, I stated. I admit that I sounded tense even though we hadn’t even started the conversation. Pavlov’s dog started drooling when the bell rang; and my body associated Racter’s presence with a heightened state of anger.

“Yes, that is what I told you”, Racter said with a slight nod. “To be more precise – in the context of our earlier conversation, I was speaking of a certain set of feelings… Those which are triggered by emotional bonds to others. Just reminding you if you had forgotten.”

I sighed.

“Okay, **_okay_**. People are just things to you, I get it – but, tell me: to what extent is your exterior appearance just a lie?” I asked.

He rose his eyebrows at that and tilted his head.

“You could take a pause and listen to your logic every now and then, my friend. You accuse me of presenting you lies; then expect me to be sincere about how dishonest I am?” he questioned.

Temper, temper. Really, I wasn’t much better than Duncan at this, but I couldn’t go off in a place like this. Koschei lowered his body slightly. Stretching or preparing for a murderous leap – most likely the latter, but I couldn’t be sure. His multiple red eyes were targeted directly at me. I shook my head, turning my focus back to Racter.

“You are avoiding the question”, I said. He chuckled. “What’s so funny about this?”

“Well”, Racter started and sucked his cigarette. “You are saying that I avoid the question... And you never bother to ponder why I should disclose such information to you in the first place. You throw vitriol upon me, trying to make me feel as though I owed you answers. You know”, his grin widened. “That’s – oh, yes, I’m sure that it would be called – _manipulating_.”

“You–“ I started, but stopped to calm down my voice. “… I would never use such a low strategy. Unlike you, I wouldn’t use time to create a plan to make you feel bad… And, to be honest, I would be foolish if I tried to abuse your feelings or something.”

“Indeed, you would be. However, that doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t entitled to get answers. You may be surprised to hear that even I may have personal boundaries”, he said. “I’m willing to discuss the topic from a more general perspective, though. Perhaps you won’t consider your original question relevant after this discussion.”

Gobbet’s voice boomed inside my head: _bo-o-o-ring_. Even so, I took a deep breath and sat down on his stool.

“Fine”, I said, waving my hand.

“Excellent”, Racter replied with a smile. “Now, I’ll make an assumption: You are concerned of the possibility of me faking my facial expressions. Why does that theoretical thought make you feel that way?”

“It bothers me because you would be hiding your real feelings. Less indicators of what’s going inside that skull of yours”, I said.

“So, you would want to access my genuine inner world”, he repeated by using other words. After that, he turned to his computer and turned it on. I stood up and walked to stand behind him. He went to the forums.

“… No offense, but what are you doing?” I asked. He selected a familiar thread meant for sharing funny pictures of animals.

“Ehm, why would you go there–“ He scrolled down. “No, really, Racter–“

And then he stopped at the message:

> _“Didn’t know that awakened rhinos could even do something like that xD”_

I frowned.

“Yes, that is my message. I’m not going to even ask how you figured my nickname, but I sure as heck would like to know what you are aiming at.”

He pointed at the emoticon at the end of the sentence.

“ _That_. I’m interested. Did you really find that image so funny as your emoticon would suggest?” he asked.

“I did consider that image funny.”

“But were you laughing when you saw the image? Your emoticon would give that impression”, Racter questioned.

“No, I didn’t laugh.”

“Which would mean that you were exaggerating. Wait… I’ll show you another example…” he said and browsed the forums. He showed me another one of my past messages:

> _“Thanks for correcting my slip :)”_

He looked at me, waiting for me to make a comment. I puffed.

“Yeah, yeah, I admit it. I was actually very irritated when I posted that message. Are you happy now?” I said. “I think that I see where you are going with all this… But, I disagree. You can’t go on comparing emoticons and facial expressions. They are different ways of communicating. Everyone uses emoticons like that, thus they are aware that emoticons might not convey real feelings.”

“Indeed, the majority seems to do so. There’s no denying that it has become a widely accepted social practice. I’d like you to consider this, though: There are social situations in which people are expected to control their real-life physical appearances. When you go to shopping and an assistant comes to interact with you, they usually try to appear approachable and friendly… When, in fact, they may have all sorts of feelings inside. Are you bothered by that?”

“As long as they do not try to flatter me too much – no, I’m not”, I said. Suddenly, I remembered Reliable Matthew and his smiling face. “… Okay, maybe a little. It does bother me when people are expected to bottle up their feelings, just to please others. But I’m okay if the person doesn’t suffer themselves.”

“Therefore, you are _sometimes_ okay with faked facial expressions”, Racter replied. “No, no, do not give me that look, my friend – I’m not trying to end our debate by accusing you of inconsistency. There are several factors to consider when analyzing situations like these, and they influence the results. You said that it would be unethical to force people to hide away their actual emotions. Surely, you aren’t concerned of my emotional well-being, so you feel uneasy because of other reasons.”

I took in a deep breath.

“You know the reasons already. I’m more concerned of your motivations… That you’d pretend to be close with others as long as they happen to be useful to you.”

He was silent for some time after that, smoking in a contemplating but peaceful manner.

“We wouldn’t be having this argument if I had designed my whole being to pander to your tastes”, he stated. “I meant it when I said that I’ve let my façade slip. I’m not investing extra time and energy in order to please you.”

I rubbed my temples.

“Racter… Can you just tell me and stop bullshitting me. Is your smile real?”

His lips kept on being curled into a slight smile.

“If you really want to know, I am content. These days, that’s what I usually am… Just content. It’s possible that my resting face wouldn’t be holding this kind of an expression, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t smile”, he said, then added thoughtfully: “Besides, have you seen the study which suggests that your body language might affect your emotions and not just the other way around? Naturally, that influence has its limits, but it is an interesting observation nevertheless. It makes one wonder what kind of underlying mechanisms – that is, physical reactions – are behind that experience… Unfortunately, the study focused on the phenomenological perspective instead of at least diving into the biological and chemical details–”

I yawned in an exaggerated manner.

“Okay, I think I’ve had enough for tonight!” I said while clapping my hands. “Thanks for giving me _some_ sort of an answer after wandering here and there. I have a feeling that I will sleep like a log after this interaction!”

“In that case – I wish you a calm night, my friend”, Racter said and shrugged. He didn’t seem to be offended by my remark, but I could see that Koschei was a bit annoyed.

As I exited the workshop, I made a mental note to observe Koschei for Racter’s less controlled side. I went to my room, crashed onto the bed – and, true enough, I slept unusually well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A topic for future research / essays: "The Meaning of Emotions, Expressions and Body Language in the Post-Humanistic Reality".


	13. [Gobbet, Is0bel, Racter] Delightful Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Potentially disturbing themes (i.e. animal cruelty)

Gobbet, Is0bel and Racter were having a rare but peaceful time together, sitting in the entrance room of the ship. They were waiting for the leader to come, as they were supposed to go for a run quite soon.

“I heard that you went to retrieve your lost memories”, Racter said to Is0bel. She wasn’t really in the mood for having a discussion – especially one going around her traumatizing memories… _And_ with Racter, out of all people. The rigger saw her unenthusiastic expression and added:

“Now, I’m not going to ask about past events. It’s simply interesting _how_ a part of your memory was split and then given back to you.”

“You are asking a wrong person, then. I do not know the specifics of the procedure”, Is0bel said. Partially true, partially a lie.

Racter shrugged, and Koschei did the same almost simultaneously. Gobbet laughed at that detail.

“Hey, wow. Have you programmed the little guy to mimic your gestures?” the shaman asked. “It would be funny to teach Madness and Folly similar tricks, but they wouldn’t most likely warm up to the idea… Hmm. Maybe if I rewarded them with some tasty snacks, though…”

Gobbet seemed to ponder the idea as if she was calculating a complex mathematical equation inside her head.

“Speaking of memories and rats—” Racter started.

“I have a bad feeling about this”, Gobbet said to Is0bel.

“— There was one scientist who tried to discover the neurological areas which store and trigger one’s memories. He used rats for his experiments, and he made these test subjects memorize a labyrinth. After that, he proceeded by damaging parts of their brains, little by little. His theory was, if the rats stopped remembering the map of the labyrinth, he had found the origin of biological memories…”

Madness and Folly became agitated. Racter didn’t pay any attention to the fact that both Gobbet and Is0bel had stopped drinking their soykafs and were giving each other certain kinds of glances.

“The problem was, he couldn’t find the answer! The rats could lose their motor skills… They could lose their sight and other senses… But they still showed no sign of amnesia! The scientist became extremely furious because he considered his experiment a failure… When, in fact, it could’ve simply shown that some neurological functionalities might be performed holistically instead of in restricted areas… Fascinating theories – very fascinating.”

“Okay, that’s enough! Tell me the name of the scientist, and I’ll go and run similar experiments on him”, Gobbet stated.

Racter gave her a delighted smile.

“Oh, he is not among the living anymore, I’m afraid. However, do know that I’m interested if you ever run such tests”, he said.

“Dear Lord”, Is0bel sighed and scratched her neck.

The door opened and the leader stepped in.

“Hey, sorry that I’m late… Shall we..?” The sentence was cut by a quick glance at the teammates. “… Did something happen here while I was gone?”


	14. [Racter] Diving Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion between Racter and The Protagonist (who has a past of being a barber and still does that kind of work in between runs).
> 
> Warnings: Potentially disturbing themes (i.e. surgery)

Racter sits on a chair, halfway lying so that his neck rests against a portable sink. I wash his hair, fingers combing through the silver strands, massaging the skin underneath in the process.

Most people find this step relaxing, even so much that they may almost fall asleep. Racter doesn’t close his eyes, but he seems to find these touches pleasant enough to sit still. My fingers find one small hidden scar on his skin again, and this time, I can’t help but ask:

“You have a scar over here… Would you like to tell me about it?”

“That scar is there because of the neurosurgery… Surely, you remember that I have special technology implanted into my brain?”

“Oh”, I simply say and keep on tracing the scar. Then, I give out a laugh. “Funny how silly I can be at times… For some reason, I didn’t give a single thought that _of course_ it had to be placed in there somehow.”

After that, we continue in silence for some seconds. When I think that the discussion ended there, he asks:

“Did you know that I was conscious during the surgery?”

My hands stop moving.

“Wait – _what_? Why?”

He gives me one of those smiles which are reserved for times like these… He sure loves to stir reactions out of others.

“You seem to be wondering whether I requested a special arrangement…” he starts, and, indeed, he reads my expressions way too well. “… But, no, I didn’t ask to be left awake. Some neurosurgeries require that the patient should be kept conscious due to safety measures and ethical regulations.”

I pour water over his head and continue washing his hair.

“Would you elaborate? What do you mean by safety measures?”

“Doctors need to ensure that their patient wouldn’t receive neurological damages during the surgery. In practice, that means that there is a professional who performs tests on the patient while the surgery is going on.”

“Tests?”

“Yes, my friend – tests. Before you might ask, there are many variations of such tests, depending on the potentially affected neurological areas… Someone might be asked to move their fingers, for instance; someone else, in turn, could be requested to answer to mathematical questions… For me, the testing went around speech and language skills for the most part”, he explains.

“… And you didn’t feel bothered at all? It would sound pretty awful to go through some sort of a language exam when your skull has been cracked open”, I have to ask.

He chuckles.

“Oh, no, no. The situation was unusual, but I also found it interesting”, he says. I frown – not because I do not believe him, but because I find his mindset bizarre. I massage him behind his ears, lost in thought.

“… Okay… What about those ethical questions?”

“The patient has the right to cancel the procedure if they change their mind – even during the surgery. A tricky regulation, however, as we are talking of neurosurgery… An unpredictable mistake or side effect could modify the thought processes of the patient, leading to decisions which the patient wouldn’t have made otherwise”, he says. “Therefore, it’s up to the doctor to estimate whether this is the case or not. The surgery continues or gets cancelled depending on these conclusions.”

“That sounds… Questionable. What if the doctor estimates wrong, accidentally or deliberately?” I comment.

“A fair critique, my friend, and you aren’t certainly the only one wondering the same. There is a vivid discourse which goes around the ethics of neuroscience… Maybe you would be interested in exploring the topic. Personally, I’d recommend concentrating on neuroscience instead of mere ethical pondering, though…The current applications and prospects are very fascinating, and I’m afraid that too thorough ethical discussion is only slowing down promising progress…” he goes on, but then he stops all of a sudden. “… How long are you going to wash my hair, by the way? If you continue with this pace, I’ll let Koschei cut my hair next time.”

I notice that, _yes_ , I’ve been washing his head for a rather long time.

“Sorry!”


	15. [Gobbet] The Biggest Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion between the Protagonist and Gobbet.

I check where I step when I enter Gobbet’s room. She is sewing torn pieces of fabric together, into something that could become some kind of a shirt.  
  
“Oh hi, Seattle!” she greets me. “What’s up?”  
  
“Well”, I start, uncertain of how I should continue. “ _Well_.”  
  
“What? Don’t tell me that a cat got your tongue — that would be amusing in a twisted way since you just stopped a Yama King from doing so”, she says. Then, she lifts the fabric. “Or, don’t tell me that you have never seen anyone sew before..?”  
  
“No, no! This is not about that—“  
  
“What’s the matter in that case? You are unusually serious and just keep on looking here and there.”  
  
“Uh, yeah. I just talked with Is0bel, and she says that you have gone out of control lately”, I finally get out of my mouth. Gobbet leaves her handiwork and hops up. Madness shrieks, surprised by the sudden movement, but manages to cling to Gobbet’s hair.  
  
“What? Out of control?” the shaman asks. “It sounds to me that Izz has lost her mind, in turn — I am not one of her programs. Why does she send you instead of coming here herself?”  
  
“... It’s because she can’t come into your room.”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“You have so much stuff in the way! She simply cannot jump over these piles with her legs”, I explain and kick one huge tower of rubbish as a demonstration. “And yeah, it seems like being a leader comes with these kinds of responsibilities...”  
  
_Playing a parent figure to a bunch of violent criminals_ , I add in my head.  
  
“... Communicating information to team members, organizing and making sure that we all get along”, I say instead. “Now. Do tell me: why on earth are you collecting all this trash? Your room was a mess before, but this is — just, wow. You haven’t even thrown away your empty noodle cups, pizza boxes, fast food wraps...” I take a pause, looking at the surrounding chaos. “How much do you even eat?”  
  
“Ah, no need to worry! I haven’t emptied all of those myself”, Gobbet replies and waves her hand in a chill manner.  
  
“Who has, then..?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know the exact persons. I got this stuff from the streets”, she says with a shrug.  
  
I squeeze the tip of my nose between my fingers.  
  
“You just got me really worried. Why are you collecting the trash of other people into your room?”  
  
Gobbet tilts her head.  
  
“Because Rat tells me to do so.”  
  
“Why?” I press.  
  
“How am I supposed to know? I simply do what feels right. And currently, it feels right to collect these kinds of things into my room”, she replies.  
  
“And you never question that?”  
  
Madness and Folly stare at me, and for a moment, it feels like they are judging my words.  
  
“Oh, Seattle. You are no shaman, so you may find it hard to get it...“ she says. “Look. I’ve followed Rat ever since I was a kid, and here I am, alive and healthy... And, in fact, you too. Remember when we met for the first time?“  
  
I pause to think.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Rat got us out. But are totems really that reliable? I mean, people can be trustworthy at one point and then betray you at some other time. You obey when you do not even know why, just because Rat says that you should..?” I question.  
  
The rats glare at me even more than before. Gobbet seems pretty unimpressed, as well.  
  
“You won’t get it. So, instead of having a b-o-o-oring debate, what if we make a bet? This stuff will turn out to be useful, let’s say, in a month or so, and you will pay my meals for the rest of this year.”  
  
I calculate how much time that makes.  
  
“Okay — but if I win, you will clean your room and the public areas of the ship for that same period of time. A deal?”  
  
She claps her hand against mine.  
  
“A deal!” she exclaims — with so carefree attitude that my earlier certainty turns into uneasiness.  
  
… This might turn out to be the most expensive mistake of my life.


	16. [Duncan & Racter] Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan wakes up in an unusual situation.

Duncan lifts his head.  
  
“Mmmphh?” he tries to talk, but there is a gag – a piece of duct tape – covering his mouth.  
  
“Good morning, Gun Show”, a familiar voice comments right behind him… Racter. A quick glance and Duncan has a better idea of their situation: stuck in a dimly lit warehouse, bound to each other, back against back.  
  
He opens his mouth beneath the duct tape and bites it; then, he pulls the gag into his mouth with his tongue, followed by spitting the tape onto the ground.  
  
“What happened? Where are the others?” Duncan asks.  
  
“I do not know, I’m afraid”, Racter replies. “However, now that you are awake, we should get out of here as soon as possible.”  
  
“For once, I agree with you”, Duncan says and eyes the ropes around them: thick and tied into knots, many, many times. “Amateurs”, he puffs in irritation.  
  
“Obviously. Can you open the knots? I’d assist you, but my position isn’t the most favorable for that”, Racter asks. Duncan tests loosening the knots by using some force at first, after which he tries to wiggle underneath the ropes.  
  
“Nope. Those knots aren’t made by a pro, but there are way too many of them. I could free my feet, perhaps”, he states finally.  
  
“That would be a start”, the rigger says. And so, Duncan focuses on twisting his feet, turning the angles, applying a varying pressure on the knots…  
  
Some open up, at the expense of Duncan’s ankles. The ropes tear his skin. But he is used to feeling pain; it doesn’t stop him from continuing the struggle.  
  
“I hope that they are okay”, he says, mostly to himself, to motivate him to keep going on.  
  
“Ah, yes, that would be preferable”, Racter replies. Duncan is annoyed by Racter’s tone… It lacks something. There has always been something off about the rigger, sometimes showing in obvious ways, sometimes as subtle hints.  
  
“Your drone isn’t here either. What do you think happened to it?” Duncan asks while working on the knots.  
  
“… I do not know. However, if they have laid even one finger on him…” Racter’s voice changes slightly towards the darker side. Duncan puffs.  
  
“You really care about that drone more than our team members?” he asks and feels how the rigger tries to look at him.  
  
“Pardon me?” Racter asks in turn.  
  
“You heard me. You care more about your drone than our teammates. I bet that if you had to decide between the safety of our teammates and the drone, you’d pick the latter”, Duncan repeats, anger dripping from his words.  
  
“Frankly, I do not think that this is a constructive conversation, especially at a time like this”, Racter replies. Duncan growls.  
  
“Do not try to avoid answering the question. There might come a time when you have to pick a side. Well?”  
  
Racter stays silent after that.  
  
“It doesn’t matter how I answer, does it? You have already formed your opinion about me”, he says. Before Duncan manages to reply, the rigger continues: “I won’t say whether you are right or not, but we could discuss this from a theoretical perspective. Let’s consider the possibility that, yes, I’d be more concerned of the safety of Koschei. Why would that be wrong?”  
  
“Seriously? Your drone is just a robot, while our teammates are living beings.”  
  
“You seem to be offended by me even suggesting that Koschei could have at least as much value as a living being… He isn’t _just_ a drone, though. He is much more. Say, he is the manifestation of the time I’ve poured into developing him. Are you saying that my time doesn’t have any value?”  
  
Duncan frowns.  
  
“I’ve spent a lot of time to practice different skills. If I had to give up one of those to save someone close to me, I’d do so without hesitation”, he says. Racter shrugs behind him.  
  
“Very well. I’ll believe that you’d be ready to lose a skill which you have exercised for a longer time. However, would you be willing to lose a part of yourself?” the rigger asks. Duncan stops fighting against the knots for a moment.  
  
“A part of myself? What does that even mean... Losing body parts?”  
  
“Losing Koschei would feel that way to me, but I do not mean only that… I’m speaking of psychological aspects, as well. Losing a part of your personality.”  
  
“Okay, _now_ you are trying to mess with me. Are you implying that some part of your personality is stored in Koschei?”  
  
“You could put it like that, yes”, Racter simply says. “So, basically, you’d be asking me to decide between abandoning our teammates and destroying myself. Now, perhaps you’d be willing to go as far as to jump into your death – but can you blame someone for not following in your footsteps?”  
  
Duncan takes a deep breath in. He thinks of Koschei, the way he has acted during the runs.  
  
A part of Racter’s personality, huh. Now, what a _delightful_ new perspective into the rigger’s mind!  
  
This discussion only sinks Duncan deeper into suspicions; which, in turn, reminds him of his past.  
  
Duncan had to go through psychology courses when he was training to become an officer, for many reasons: For example, psychological matters have an effect on legal matters, potentially changing final verdicts. On the field, it’s important to know whether the target is acting hostile because of an illness. Interrogation methods are also tailored to suit different people.  
  
Lie detectors are still in use even though they aren’t completely reliable. Duncan remembers one reason why they wouldn’t work… Some persons can go through normally stressful situations without showing typical reactions, including an increased heart rate and higher cortisol levels. Such individuals were described in deeper detail, one page after another… So… What if Racter…  
  
Duncan shuts his eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to bring himself back to this moment. It doesn’t matter who or what the man behind him is – the most important thing is to get out, quickly.  
  
The last knot opens up.  
  
“Great”, Duncan says. “Maybe we can get up, now.”  
  
He stands up, lifting Racter from the floor in the process – slowly, very, _very_ slowly and laboriously.  
  
“Just how much do you weigh?” Duncan snaps.  
  
Racter just shrugs again.  
  
“My apologies, I suppose. But, but… We need to find a way out. Can you walk around and investigate the area?” the rigger asks.  
  
And thus, the two of them explore the small warehouse together. They find a door which could lead them out, but it’s locked. In normal circumstances, Duncan could kick the door open or slam against it enough to do so, but with Racter’s weight… Not a possibility.  
  
“Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic”, the ork growls.  
  
“We need to find an alternative plan. Could you move around the warehouse?” the rigger asks.  
  
With a frustrated puff, Duncan proceeds to do so. After some exploration, Racter says:  
  
“Would you get me closer to that shelf? I think that I saw something useful.”  
  
Duncan obliges.  
  
“Oh, yes. Good. Could you get me a bit higher? My arms are partially bound, and I can’t reach the shelf from this height”, Racter continues. The other man puffs but tries his best to do so, standing up to his toes, trembling. He stumbles a bit, though, crashing Racter against the shelf.  
  
It sounds like the rigger curses in an unknown language.  
  
“The items dropped onto the ground. Would you sit down?” he asks finally.  
  
Duncan doesn’t admit it, but his vessel welcomes the respite. However, it doesn’t take long for Racter to request him to stand up again and walk to the door.  
  
“What did you find?” Duncan asks.  
  
“Wires and batteries”, Racter replies in a pleased tone.  
  
“And just how the heck are _those_ going to help our situation?”  
  
“I’ll use a simple trick… Connecting the positive and negative terminals of the battery to each other with the wire, _directly_. That’s called a short circuit. You will see why doing that is usually against recommendations…”  
  
Racter places the batteries and wires so that they hang from the door knob. Then, he instructs Duncan to move a couple of meters away.  
  
After some waiting, the batteries catch fire. The flames destroy the door knob and the lock close to it. Duncan opens the door before the fire spreads further, and the two of them walk out into freedom.  
  
… Only to hear gunshots. Duncan grunts and hides himself and Racter behind a car. They wait in silence – they can’t do much besides that. Amateurs or not, their captors wouldn't have any trouble with aiming at such easy targets.  
  
It feels as though time became slower. No more gunshots can be heard: the air is filled only with the sound of the gently blowing wind, the cracking of the fire engulfing the warehouse, little by little.  
  
This peacefulness is cut by a yell:  
  
“Hey, we need to act quickly, or Gun Show and the creepy Russian guy will be toast!”  
  
Duncan rises to his feet after hearing that exclaim, to confirm that the one who shouted is indeed Gobbet. Others follow right behind her. The shaman notices Duncan and Racter immediately, and she breaks into laughter at the sight.  
  
“Well, maybe we shouldn’t have been so worried after all! Those two have each other’s backs covered, after all…”  
  
Duncan and Racter do not appreciate the joke so much, but they do like to be finally freed.


	17. [Racter] Questions of the Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More discussions between Racter and the Protagonist.

It sounds like Racter has one of his rare silent evenings: when I lift the lid and go downstairs, all I can hear is the sound of my own steps and their echoes. He is leaning against a railing and tipping some ashes off his cigarette; Koschei, in turn, is beneath a desk, hidden save for his glowing eyes.  
  
I assume that Racter has time to talk, but I ask him in any case.  
  
“I can continue the contemplation later, so yes… What do you have in mind?” he asks while offering me a cigarette.  
  
“I’m curious of your past words about wearing a mask”, I say, take a smoke and let him light it. “It’s… Puzzling. I admit that I’ve been thinking a lot after you used that word to describe your situation.”  
  
“Would you like to tell what you have been pondering?” he asks.  
  
“Well… _A mask_ would make me think about roles. Almost everyone, me included, plays different roles depending on contexts… That doesn’t mean that we are necessarily faking being someone or something – just that we are showing different sides of ourselves, to fit into different scenarios. Moreover, we are expected to act in certain ways to be rewarded or to simply avoid being punished. You mention that you wearing a mask is an abnormal thing, while it sounds like a common practice to me… Would you clarify my thoughts about this?”  
  
He takes a drag on his smoke.  
  
“Those are fair observations. As you say, it’s not unusual for people to modify their demeanor to suit different situations. Thus, we could say that everyone wears some sort of a mask”, he says. “I’ll confess one thing, though, my friend… Even though _masking_ is commonly used to describe individuals like me – even _by_ the people on the spectrum – I’m not personally fond of the word. It suffers from the classic challenge of using natural languages… It’s not precise enough. It may lead you quite close to the actual phenomenon but give you a somewhat inaccurate idea.”  
  
“In that case, I guess that you’d be willing to give me a better understanding?” I ask.  
  
“Through using even more of unreliable and ambiguous natural languages?” he points out with a grin. “I’d prefer to communicate through elegant formal languages, but I digress. I can try to explain, but first, a question for you: are there any roles which you _wouldn’t_ be willing to play for _the rest of your life_ , even when your survival was at stake?”  
  
“Well…” I start but stop to think. Neo-Nazis come to my mind. “… Yeah. I certainly do have my limits.”  
  
Racter nods.  
  
“Which would indicate that you have specified _values_ which make your life worth living for”, he says. He looks at me and chuckles. “… I see that I confused you already.”  
  
“You certainly did”, I state. “Are you saying that you have no values?”  
  
“In a way, I have some, but they do not feel like a part of my _identity_ …”  
  
“What, not even post-humanism?” I can’t help but ask, blinking.  
  
“Since it seems like we have misunderstandings, I’ll clarify that post-humanism has never been the _final_ stopping point to me. I dedicate my time and resources to reach that reality because I believe that it’s necessary for our survival. Of course, I’m intrigued by the possibilities which will come once we reach that stage, but – no, post-humanism is a tool to me, not a value in itself.”  
  
I notice that I’ve been sucking the cigarette for a longer time. I release a large cloud of smoke out of my mouth.  
  
“Well, wow. I’ll need to process that thought for some time…” I say, making Racter grin at me again.  
  
“Do take your time. In any case, my point is… While you may wear some sorts of masks sometimes, you have a deep sensation of being one person, with a certain set of relatively stable values. These values make you act in ways which may be even unfavorable to you. People like me are usually comfortable with using any value set as long as it happens to be beneficial to us. There – that’s one difference.”  
  
“Interesting”, I say thoughtfully. “… You do have some idea of who you really are, though? When you described your past accident, you did mention that your injuries had an impact on your identity... If you didn’t possess a sense of self, you wouldn’t be able to go through an identity crisis, right?”  
  
“I did say so, true – and you are correct that I feel like _me_. I am an entity which stores and processes a continuous line of memories, feels, thinks, can describe itself with some adjectives and nouns… Say, I wouldn’t even be able to call myself a psychopath or a rigger or Russian if I couldn’t tell anything about myself. I know that I’m a curious and solitary person. I know what I can do and what I can’t do… A list of facts, you could say”, Racter explains.  
  
“What did your accident do to that sense of self?” I ask.  
  
“Well, it had a major impact on that list. Say, I used to think that being a man is one of those facts… But, I was forced to reconsider that detail after half of my body was replaced with cybernetic material. If one’s body could be changed almost completely… If the human vessel is dispensable, not the only way to store one's mind and to interact with our reality… Why anchor one’s identity to something like that? – to an obsolete artifact of the past? I confess that I went through some highly confusing moments during the time of my recovery; however, as a result, I came to a better understanding of the nature of existing. In the end, I'm grateful that I was reshaped by the accident, both psychologically and physically.”  
  
My cigarette has turned into a short stub.  
  
“Okay… Thank you for explaining these things to me. I think that I may need a pause to let your words sink in thoroughly. After that, it’s possible that I’ll come back with further questions…”  
  
“As usual”, he says.  
  
“As usual”, I repeat. “Anyway… I wish you a pleasant evening…”  
  
I leave Racter and approach Gaichu’s space… Hoping that the ghoul has less bizarre topics to discuss. It’s not a lie that my mind needs some time to process these new ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some discussion and, as a result, here's a blog post regarding some themes in this chapter:  
> <https://cb-space.blogspot.com/2019/01/about-themes-in-questions-of-self.html>


	18. [Racter] Discussing the Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between the Protagonist and Racter. Includes potentially disturbing themes.

Koschei’s pedipalps made sporadic stabs in the air. Just like when observing the head of a bird scanning its surroundings, it was hard to see the movement which led his appendages from one position to another. Clattering followed each stab. I looked down at my feet and saw a sliced pea on the floor. After that, I could notice a small machine on Racter’s desk. It threw peas at Koschei who, in turn, seemed to practice hitting them.

Racter was further away in his workshop. The drone blocked my way. I wasn’t fascinated by the idea of getting stabbed by him – and so I yelled at Racter to catch his attention. The man turned and seemed to give an inaudible command to Koschei: the drone stopped. A couple of peas flew before Racter powered off the device.

“Practicing?” I asked.

“Performing tests… I made some modifications to his programming”, the rigger said.

“Have you always used peas for such tests?”

“No, no – Gaichu and I discussed some time ago, and he suggested this kind of a method”, he explained. “It’s simple but good enough for this purpose.”

“Okay”, I said and looked over his shoulder. “What project were you concentrating on? That doesn’t seem to have anything to do with peas.”

I had noticed an image of a brain on his computer screen. It wasn’t a photograph but an illustrated version of the organ. There were colored areas on it.

“Ah, that. I collect data regarding anatomy. That is an example of a human brain… Although metahumans share a similar brain structure, there are some differences; that is why I elaborate on that matter. Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked. I had stepped next to him, and he tapped my shoulder, inviting me to come closer to the display.

“Why is the brain colored like that?” I asked.

“Currently, the image shows the parts of the _cerebral cortex_ which are activated”, he said. When I looked at him with raised eyebrows, he chuckled and continued: “ _Cerebral cortex_ is the outer layer of the metahuman brain… A revolutionary step in the evolution of living beings; the advancement which led mankind to the top of the food chain.”

Racter touched the screen with his finger, zooming the view closer to the brain. That revealed smaller details.

“This here is _gray matter_ ”, he said. “The cerebral cortex contains the most of it, although gray matter can be found elsewhere as well. For instance, there are somas, dendrites and synapses in the gray matter.”

I stared at the screen and frowned.

“Wait! Why does it look pink rather than gray, then?” I cut in before he went even deeper into detail.

“Oh, that’s because the model is based on living tissue. Without blood, the tissue becomes more grayish in color.”

“Okay…” I said slowly while trying to stop myself from imagining that too vividly. “You know, this topic reminds me of our past discussion. That time when you told me that you have been assessed for psychopathy, to be more precise... You mentioned that, uh, _some_ sort of a cortex had a low level of activity, right?”

“Indeed, my friend. I was talking of my _ventromedial prefrontal cortex_ ”, Racter confirmed and zoomed out, showing the more holistic picture of the brain. He highlighted an area at the frontal lobe of the brain – at the bottom of it, to be more precise. “The ventromedial prefrontal cortex affects emotional responses to moral questions and decision-making, to mention some examples.”

He swiped the screen, revealing some parts which were hidden underneath the surface.

“I confess that I forgot to also mention the _fMRI_ measurement…”

“What _is_ fMRI, Racter?” I cut in again.

“Ah, do forgive me. I may become too lost into the topics and forget to elaborate. fMRI comes from the words _functional magnetic resonance imaging_. The method follows how blood carries oxygen to different parts of the brain. If certain parts of the brain become active, it’s reasonable to infer that their need for oxygen would increase”, he explained. “In any case: I went through this kind of a measurement, too, while I was shown different kinds of pictures. The pictures featured sights which would normally cause an emotional reaction. These reactions may be noticed in the activity of this _limbic system_ – to be more specific, in the amygdala. It may be needless to say that my amygdala didn’t become active during the testing; instead of that, my brain showed activity in the parts which process language. This inclination has been shown to be typical for psychopathic individuals*.”

Was it Racter’s rambling, or did the warmth of his workshop make me sweat?

“Are you really that nonchalant about explaining your own personality in such materialistic terms?” I had to ask.

“Why, my personality can be explained in materialistic terms. The same applies to you and everyone else. Study enough neurology and you will see that neuroessentialism is only logical. Even if I felt bad about it, that wouldn’t change the facts”, Racter said.

“Are you still sure that there is enough evidence? Say, you just explained to me that fMRI is based on measuring blood flows which carry oxygen… The tactic seems to _assume_ that the increased levels correlate with the cerebral activities in the brain; these cerebral activities, in turn, are _assumed_ to cause psychological experiences. That would be many layers of assumptions, Racter…” I argued.

“You can’t deny that one’s consciousness resides in the brain, my friend. As a reminder, I could tell you the story of a man called Phineas Gage, a railway worker. In 1848, he got into an accident: an iron bar went through his head, damaging his left frontal lobe…”

My lips stretched wider into a thin line.

“Even though he somehow managed to survive the significant damages, they changed his personality. Before, he had been known as a reliable and honest man; after the accident, he turned vulgar and irresponsible. His friends stated that he wasn’t the same man at all”, he continued. “This was one historical event which led people closer to the realization that the center of one's personality lies in the brain. Time has passed, and the amount of evidence just grows… How can you insist that science hasn’t yet proved the nature of the mind?”

“It’s possible that the human mind is connected to the brain. However, how can we know that it doesn’t include a link between the spiritual and the material realms? The metahuman spirit could be controlling the body through the brain… Maybe the abnormal behavior is due to a weakened link between the material and the intangible?” I asked.

“When have you turned into Descartes, my friend?” Racter scoffed. He didn’t seem angry, but it was clear that he wasn’t pleased with my input. “Frankly, I’d rather focus on my personal projects than debate with you. You supporters of the supernatural demand that we, the materialists, should prove our claims. Where is _your_ evidence, I ask? You can’t expect me to accept your arguments when supposedly supernatural phenomena could be explained in materialistic terms, given the correct tools…”

“Okay, _okay_! Maybe it’s for the best that we stop discussing now and continue later… And maybe we should focus on some other topic next time. I fear that these debates would turn out to be unsatisfactory to the both of us”, I said.

“We could concentrate on our own tasks of the day, yes”, Racter replied, and thus, I went to the stairs.

When I was climbing up, I could hear how Koschei sliced peas with aggressive stabs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, corrections are welcome.
> 
> Some background pondering over my blogger: <https://cb-space.blogspot.com/2019/02/about-discussing-brain_27.html> (special thanks to [Lillilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillilah/pseuds/lillilah)!).
> 
> EDIT: 1) Changed "diagnosed" into "assessed" to be more accurate. Check the end notes of chapter 4 or 9 for an explanation.
> 
> 2) *"This inclination has been shown to be typical for psychopathic individuals" >> It's worth pointing out that this could be debated, even though there are studies about the topic. E.g. researchers tend to use criminals for these brain scans instead of noncriminals, which might lead to biased results. Moreover, there have been questions about the reliability of brain scans / their interpretations.


	19. [Is0bel & Gobbet] Through the Lenses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Potentially upsetting themes (i.e. eating disorders)
> 
> Is0bel and the Protagonist have a discussion about the dangers of the Matrix.

Is0bel was cleaning her quarters when I ran up the stairs.

“What’s the matter? Has someone attacked the ship?” she asked, startled by my sudden and loud entrance. My shoulders lowered when I saw her with a damp cloth in her hand.

“Thank goodness that you aren’t plugged into the Matrix right now”, I said. “I just read that many deckers have had their brains burned lately, by some malicious but unknown entity.”

Is0bel stared at me for a moment; then, she shook her head.

“ _That’s_ why you came here in such a hurry?” she asked.

“Didn’t you even hear what I said? You can’t go into the Matrix before this has been solved—“

Is0bel cut me with a cold and bored glance, accompanied by a slow sigh.

“I _will_ jack-in to the Matrix as always. I appreciate that you care for my safety; but, you do remember that we are shadowrunners, correct? That is far from a safe job. Besides, such dangers are hardly anything new... The Matrix has been full of all sorts of risks even in the past”, she stated.

I considered her words and noticed that she had a point.

“... I’m sorry. It’s easy to forget the dangers of the nonphysical reality sometimes. Even though the Matrix _is_ a big thing, I have only a shallow understanding of it. That’s why I may become alarmed when I bump into this kind of information”, I said finally.

“What have you imagined that I’ve been doing during our runs? Taking a nap?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

“Well, your physical body seems pretty relaxed when you dive into the Matrix...” I started. “... But no, I’ve never thought that your work is like taking a nap!” I finished when Is0bel’s hands stretched and squeezed the wet cloth in a tense manner.

She sighed.

“That’s good”, she said. “There are many who dismiss certain work just because they can’t understand it.”

She wiped dust from around her gigantic masterpiece. Although my technical knowledge was low, I could see that she had needed a lot of skill, patience and knowledge to build the complex machine.

“Do you have something else on your mind?” she asked when she noted that I hadn’t left her room yet.

“Oh. Well, it could be important that I’d try to understand your work better. You mentioned that there have been other kinds of dangers around the Matrix — would you like to give some sort of an example about that?”

“So that you would become even more worried about my safety?”

“No, no — I’ve never meant to act like a nanny to you. You have been a decker far longer than I’ve been a shadowrunner. You know what you are doing, that is not the question... I’m just interested”, I explained.

She was silent, then said:

“Fine. I’m cleaning, so I might as well share a story with you.”

She took a pause when she crouched to wipe the countless wires on the floor.

“There are multiple artificial intelligences which are designed to give unique experiences to those who go into the Matrix. They collect data regarding the users: for example, their behavioral patterns when they are in touch with the Matrix. Since the Matrix is a ubiquitous system, the AIs can collect data about things which happen in the meat space, too.”

“You mentioned unique experiences... What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means that the AIs provide users with tailored material. Say, virtual spots which the users might want to visit, different kinds of appearances they might like for their avatars, information which could be relevant to the users' interests... Products and services which might match with the users' needs and desires...” she explained.

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad thus far. However, you tell me this story as an example of dangers over the Matrix, right? What is the threat?” I asked.

“Perhaps it sounds alright to you, but you may change your opinion about that. Privacy issues are an obvious issue, but some are ready to pay that price in order to get services. Especially if those services are free...”

Gobbet came out of her messy corner.

“And there are no free lunches out there!” she added. “Speaking of which, could I get a couple of bucks in advance? The client has been awfully slow with paying, I’m running low on nuyen and I have two rat kids to feed... Seattle? Pretty please?”

I gave her some money.

“Thanks!” she said in her usual cheerful manner and went downstairs.

“Anyway... Yeah, Gobbet is right. If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. People think that they are the customers, when they are actually the products of the system. Their data is sold to third parties. People could be classified as potential terrorists just because hidden algorithms claim so. There are SINless people who had to disappear because of these kinds of events.”

“Okay, I just changed my mind”, I said.

“Figured that you would. But there are even more problems... The algorithms are designed for predicting the wishes of the user. Those services bring certain material in front of the user while hiding some other stuff. There was one person suffering from serious issues with her self-esteem... A budding eating disorder. The AIs came into the conclusion that the user would want to see triggering material, including photos of starved people; pictures encouraging folk to lose more weight; rude comments on the outlooks of others, especially based on their weight; unrealistic goals for physical exercises; so on. The AIs surrounded the girl with material which insisted that she had to become thinner and thinner. In the end, she had to be hospitalized.”

“... Did the AIs do that deliberately? Or the people who invented them?” I asked.

“No... The AIs simply do as they are programmed to do: to predict the tastes of the user. They didn’t consciously try to harm the girl, and neither did their programmers. These kinds of tragedies can happen because of unintentional design flaws.”

Is0bel sighed. I let her words sink in slowly, standing still and silent.

“This world is strange... That girl is a normal citizen. For a long time, I thought that being a shadowrunner is a dangerous job. It seems like there is no guarantee of safety, whoever you are: SINless or not, a criminal or a normal citizen...” I murmured.

“Indeed. As you can see, you can’t protect me or the other members of the crew. There are no bulletproof methods of staying safe... Such is this reality we live in”, she said.

“How can you stay this calm?” I asked. She stood up.

“That is a good question. I guess that being a shadowrunner has made me more used to the idea... We face direct dangers constantly. At times, we need to kill people on the opposing side, even when we try to use stealth rather than force. I do not enjoy this lifestyle — but what else could I do? I can’t magically transform my life into something else. So, I need to accept things as they are and live. Enjoy the things which make my time worthwhile. Focus on those.”

“Hmm. Your words make me think of those AIs... How they make their users see just certain kind of material. Perhaps we all see our surroundings through some sort of lenses: filtering the world to fit into our pre-existing views. Far too often, we pass through our days without noticing the positive things around us. Maybe you seem to be quite alright because you have practiced seeing the positive sides in your life?”

Is0bel looked at the blue lights illuminating her room. She let out a short puff of air which sounded like a faint chuckle.

“You should direct those words at Gobbet, you know...”

Before I could comment, Gobbet returned upstairs, holding a tall tower of noodle cups.

“Heyy, Izz and Seattle! You just continue talking, eh? Here, I brought food for all of us — let’s eat!” she exclaimed from behind the cups. Madness and Folly were on top of her head, sniffing the delicious smell of warm noodles.

“I thought that you had to borrow money to buy yourself food?” I asked, resting my hands against my hips.

“No thanks for considering your stomachs?” she asked. “I’ve been following you for some time now, Seattle, and I’ve noticed that you forget to take proper care of yourself! Talking is fun and all, but it stops being fun when your belly joins into the discussion. So, I simply predicted that you might need food... Am I wrong?”

I couldn't help but grin.

“No, no! I’ll take a cup. Let’s eat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wired's article: "[When Algorithms Think You Want to Die](https://www.wired.com/story/when-algorithms-think-you-want-to-die/)" (trigger warning: suicide)


	20. [Racter] Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short discussion between the Protagonist and Racter. Happens after the run "Whistleblower".

Sometimes, I could return from runs covered in dust, sweat and blood. A sticky, uncomfortably distracting mixture. Thank heavens for showers and their refreshing effect.

My hair was still wet when I entered the basement of the ship. Racter was also in the middle of a cleaning procedure – washing Koschei. As a rigger, Racter could stay hidden behind the corner, thus he didn’t get nowhere near as dirty as I pretty much always did. One of the cons about specializing in close combat.

We exchanged greetings, and I asked him whether this was a good time for a chat. It happened to be.

“What do you think of the last run?” I asked. He continued brushing Koschei’s chassis with a damp cloth.

“Betrayal is always disappointing, but the run turned out to be successful. I’m pleased about that”, he said. “There was one matter which caught my attention in a negative fashion, though…”

He took a slow drag on his cigarette, leaving some time for me to consider possible options. My thoughts stopped at one line…

“There was a promising drone, you see – but it had been ruined by a significant mistake. You were perhaps focused on the other matters on the battle field, but there was a drone which acted in an unintentional manner. As a rigger and a roboticist, it’s disheartening to see a colleague who sabotages their creations by using the Euler angles instead of quaternions…” he continued. He stopped his explanation after he had looked at my way.

“Your expression indicates that you were thinking of some other reason for my dissatisfaction.”

A statement which was also a question.

“Ah, well… I was thinking that you were talking of Tigath’s words. When we forced him to tell us the truth, he basically called us crazy psychopaths or something along those lines. I was wondering whether you were uncomfortable because of that”, I said.

“Oh, that”, Racter replied. “While I do not think highly of such remarks, I do not see why I should become too bothered by it. Psychopathy has become a common attacking tool for those who do not even know what psychopathy is. If I became upset every single time someone used it in such a manner, I would lose a significant amount of my time and resources.” He tilted his head, smiling. “Besides, that traitor is dead.”

“So you aren’t bothered by people having such views on psychopathy?” I had to ask.

“Usually, no, I am not. Most people do not ever learn about my condition. In a way, their false beliefs work as an excellent disguise for me… When they see me, they tend to be unable to make the connection, just because I do not fit into their idea of a psychopath. It’s quite rare that I’d need them for anything else than as temporary assets, so they come and go”, he said.

I rolled my eyes at the word “asset” but didn’t stop him to make remarks about that.

“Unlike some other psychopathic individuals, I’ve decided to tell about my condition to a selected set of people. Ever since my accident, I’ve found it a bit more taxing to keep up a fully shaped façade. A close professional relationship tends to require frequent interactions. Therefore, a successful disclosure could result in saved energy levels – I do not need to be so concentrated on giving a normal impression.”

“Hmmm. Considering what could ensue, it’s surprising that you tell that piece of information in a relatively short period of time”, I commented after munching his words for a moment. Racter sank the cloth into a bucket full of water, then stretched it, forcing some water out of the fabric.

“As I just mentioned, being open could save my energy for more important matters. It’s more efficient to test the other person when the relationship is just a seed. Some react in disappointing ways, but I’d rather save my time for more interesting individuals anyway”, he told me. “Furthermore, I want to spread information about the post-humanistic future. As you have learned, I believe that psychopathy will be a central element in that progress. There is a phrase about killing two birds with one stone; thus, why not pick coworkers who are also promising in that respect...?”

Both Racter and Koschei kept looking at me with their unblinking eyes. The tension was the same when he had directly requested me to join him; he was still waiting for me to say “yes” to his invitation.

I cleared my throat. I had to redirect this discussion elsewhere.

“Speaking of this topic… I found out that there used to be an old program called “Racter” in the past. Apparently, the artificial persona was depicted as being – mad”, I said, stumbling at the end of the statement because I was unsure of the wording.

“That is correct”, Racter said with a nod, breaking the tension. “Since people like me are called mad, I figured that I might as well make a personal joke about it. Not an unusual thing among shadowrunners, but it is rare that someone would figure the pun nevertheless. Only few know of my condition, and it’s also very rare that someone would remember that old program… That decreases the likelihoods significantly. Thus, consider me surprised, my friend.”

He indeed wasn’t the only one including a message in his runner name. Thinking of the topic made me remember that I still had other crew members to visit – Gaichu on my list as the next one.

Besides, perhaps it was about my time to leave: Racter could fall back into discussing post-humanism otherwise – and I certainly was not ready for that conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " I found out that there used to be an old program called “Racter” in the past. Apparently, the artificial persona was depicted as being – mad" >> I added more information about this claim over my blogger:  
> <https://cb-space.blogspot.com/2019/03/behind-runner-name-racter.html>


End file.
